Join Me
by I've Been a Labrat
Summary: Still angry and nursing wounds, their minds warred on the astral plane while unconsciously creating a third mind from their conflict. As Erik visits the mansion later, he finds Charles in a bit of a mental predicament. Once his problem is solved, he gives Erik an ultimatum, refusing to allow the usual "come back, leave again." It may be the hardest decision Erik will ever make.
1. Charles v Charles

___Yeah, so I got this idea, see, and I wanted to get feedback on it like usual. I wanted to see what would happen after Days of Future Past, in my own way of loving domesticity among the X-Men, with of course action as well because otherwise that fluff is just b-o-r-i-n-g. Since the writers of DOFP believe in multiverses, I refuse to believe that Erik had to go around being Magneto up until The Last Stand like he did in... well, The Last Stand, where he got Cure'd. Ba-dum-tss. Alright, I'm done, I swear. Enjoy Charles griping to himself. Also, as a note on the quote, I would've followed their license rules, except this site is terrible at blocking spam, so I can't link anything. Sorry, Family Friend Poems._

* * *

**Part I  
**

**Entre**

_There are two kinds of dreams. There are dreams that we have while asleep and dreams that we have while we are awake. What is the connection between the two types? Both kinds of dreams are about the yearnings that are held deep inside us.  
_– _Family Friend Poems_

"Charles," he murmured, lips hardly moving as he uttered the name, staring at himself just a few feet away in the vast white astral plane.

"Charles," he replied, smiling with bright, perceptive blue eyes twinkling, warning of mischief about to be had.

"Oh, dear." And then he winced, because that had meant to be a private thought. But he remembered then that there were no internal thoughts, because this was the mind's world. Thus, all thoughts became spoken words.

He chuckled at himself, walking forward and casting an arm around his shoulders. "Come on, old chap, let's share a drink, shall we?"

"Been trying to quit," he muttered back, avoiding his gaze.

"Just one, I promise. You can be my designated driver." He tossed himself the keys to his car, the metal gleaming and jingling loudly in the otherwise silent space. Just as their footsteps echoed as they walked along the flat white surface that was neither floor nor ground. So quickly, the white began to move forward like magma, flowing around them to form the old pub they'd frequented most often during their Oxford days.

Charles #1 lead the way, swaggering with confidence Charles #2 ached to have again. They took seats on bar stools at the counter, ordering a pint of bitter each and clinking glasses. "To… Erik," Charles said, eyes sparkling with mischief again as Charles choked on the sip he'd taken, his drifting numb features melting away to be replaced with agony.

Charles angrily spat out a rude expletive, throwing his drink in Charles's face and sliding off the bar stool as he strode from the pub. Charles seemed unperturbed, following amiably with hands tucked in his pockets, faced and shirt perfectly dry. "Fuck off, you bastard," Charles spat over his shoulder, kicking the empty beer can in the street when Charles continued to follow.

"Oh, for God's sake, get that chip off your shoulder before I have to hit you."

"What do you care? You don't exist anymore."

"Don't I?" Charles strode ahead enough to stop in front of himself, eyebrow raised.

Charles scoffed, turning his head down. "You don't. I wouldn't be like this if you still existed, you and I both know that."

It was both surprising and expected, the hand that came to rest on his shoulder. "Asshole I may be, but I'm still your conscience, my friend. You've ignored me long enough, I think," Charles said softly.

"Why have you stuck around if you're so starved?"

Charles chuckled, spreading his arms out as the Oxford street melted back to white. "Where else would I go?"

"Hawaii?" Charles suggested, causing himself to laugh.

"Now why didn't I think of that?"

As Charles began to turn and walk away, Charles reached out and caught his wrist, fingering the fabric of the navy blue cardigan. "I miss these."

Charles flashed him a smile. "Without a doubt. They're far better than…" He considered himself for a moment, frowning and gesturing with his hand. "Whatever… this is."

"Call it the seventies."

Charles made a disgusted noise. "It's a crime against clothing everywhere. Hippies, all of you. Why not just put on a crown of flowers and go play the ukulele in a Californian field, for the love of God?"

Charles rolled his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic, it's not that bad."

"Not that bad? My friend, have you looked in a mirror lately?" On command, a floor length mirror appeared in Charles's hands, allowing Charles to look at himself. "Take a look. Like what you see?" Charles began to nod, receiving a light smack on his head as reward. "Well, you shouldn't. It's dreadful."

"Don't touch my hair," Charles snapped as Charles picked at the scraggly strands.

"Oh, believe me, I won't be touching it again unless you get a haircut." Charles brushed off his hands as though he'd touched a dead rat. "You look like a drug addict."

"Well, yes-"

"Sh," Charles hushed him by putting a finger to Charles's lips. "Trade your clothes for something suitable, get a haircut or at least comb it back, and then we can have a proper conversation."

"Really? It's…" Charles blinked, astral form growing transparent as he left the plane partially, enough to wake up in the physical world and look at the clock on his nightstand. Shutting his eyes again and rolling over in bed, Charles's astral form returned to full opaqueness, giving himself an irritable look. "Two fifteen in the morning. We're going to have to put off this conversation for at least thirteen hours."

Charles beamed at him. "I've waited ten years, I can wait thirteen hours more." With a wave, he began to fade into the background, even as Charles sounded off a chorus of "nos" which were peppered with "don't leave me, dammit, you pain in the ass!" until he slipped into deep sleep, dreamless due to his old self's kind banishment of any thoughts besides that of "do I have to pee? Nah, you're good, continue sleeping."


	2. The Best Knights

_First, thank you very much to Ariel-Naraya-Marjana and NotMarge for leaving me reviews! I'll respond in a moment. Thank you also to Lead Owl and LadyoftheUnderground for adding this story to your favorites list! I'm excited and grateful for the support already._

_Ariel-Naraya-Marjana: Why, thank you! I'm always agonizing over quotes, haha._

_NotMarge: Don't worry! As you can see, it's not a oneshot. :) I'm really glad to hear it gave you chills, though!_

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"_I don't care if it hurts, I want to have control.  
I want a perfect body, I want a perfect soul."  
_– _Radiohead_

"One of you needs to take me to get a haircut," Charles announced the next morning at breakfast, hands busy buttering his toast and trying not to be a total jerk by leaving crumbs in the tub of butter.

Hank seemed surprised, and Charles almost became offended before remembering his track record of caring about his appearance over the past decade. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he replied simply, refraining from adding anything else lest it come out rude.

"Alright, Logan, you'll take him."

"Now, hang on, bub. Why am I taking him?"

"Because I already took him out last time."

Logan grumbled to himself as he took another drink of beer, forcing Charles to avert his eyes and busy himself even more with arranging his breakfast. He nudged it around on his plate, muscles tightening as he took controlled breaths.

_You don't need that to get through the day,_ a soft voice whispered to him, and Charles sighed internally.

_Feels like it._

_It'll pass._

_I hope you're right._

_Of course I'm right. I'm you and I know how your willpower is. You're doing wonderfully, I might add._

He took a bite of toast to stave off the sudden thickness of his throat. Talking to himself. Ha. Maybe he should call up his estranged mother and have her commit him to the sanitarium again.

* * *

He sat down heavily in the chair, which resided in a corner of his room, and put his head in his hands. His heart still pounded from yelling at Hank, fighting with him outright over taking the serum again. Charles sobbed once, lifting his head from his hands and rubbing his forearms with his hands.

_I can't go out in public like this. I haven't for years. I'm not doing it again-_

_Yes, you are. You can, and you will._

_Piss off._

_Sh! You're making it out to be far worse than it really is. Stop building it up in your mind, call Logan to help you get your bloody pants on, and then go apologize to Hank. Poor boy has suffered enough abuse from you to put up with any more._

_Fine._ Charles growled lowly through his teeth, reaching out with his mind and nosing along until he found Logan. He tentatively asked if the gruff, yet kindhearted man would take pity on him and help him with a matter of dressing, and gave a weak smile of apology when he admitted he didn't have pants on.

Logan didn't seem fazed as he helped him finish getting dressed, and Charles combed his hair back from his face the best he could. Perhaps he could put off the haircut-

_Don't even think about it._

_You're impossible._

_I want that hair _cut, _Xavier._

_Alright, alright. I'm going._

Shoes wouldn't be terribly hard if he were a little more flexible, but he was still stiff and the constant pain in his back didn't help. Hank knew about it, and asked him how he was feeling every day, as he had since Charles had confessed to it in tears one day very shortly after he'd been through his first surgery. Years ago, just a few hours after Cuba.

He said he was fine most days. But fine for him and fine for other people were far different definitions. Charles cringed as he settled back against the chair, trying to get slightly less uncomfortable.

"You alright, Chuck?"

Logan was a bit of an ass, but he did care, for which Charles was grateful. Even if he didn't express his gratitude to his two comrades nearly often enough. Charles nodded once, biting down on his lip as he urged the joystick forward under the fingers of his right hand. He was fine today. Fine meant being in less agony than he could be, but he was fine.

Hank was sitting near the bottom of the stairs, face in that expression Charles recognized as the mask he'd carefully schooled over the years of taking care of him. He sighed under his breath, approaching Hank and stopping before him. "Hank."

"Mind if I come along?" The man asked quietly, voice betraying his face. His face said he wasn't upset, but his voice screamed that his face was a liar.

"Of course you can come. I-" He stopped himself, because saying something like "I didn't think you'd want to come" was not the right thing to say. He had to think before he spoke. He had to, because if he didn't, he only burned more bridges.

Charles cleared his throat, looking Hank in the eyes and owning up to his mistake from earlier that morning. "I'm sorry for the way I acted toward you, Hank. It was undeserved."

Hank nodded once, opening his mouth as Charles saw in the forefront of his mind words of "it's alright" even if Hank didn't fully mean it. Then he closed his mouth again and stood up.

_Good. He doesn't need to forgive you yet._

_I know. I wish he wouldn't at all._

_Don't be so pessimistic. It's giving me a headache._

* * *

Hank and Logan let him sit. For twenty minutes, they sat in the car while Charles tried to convince himself he'd be okay. He could get out of the car, get in his chair, and be fine. He'd go along the sidewalk with Hank and Logan flanking him, he would ignore any stares he received, and he'd ignore the pain spiking in his back with every one of those stares.

Charles shifted, trying to quell the nausea in the pit of his stomach. The only thing keeping him slightly sane was reaching a hand up his sleeve and clawing his fingernails down the vulnerable flesh of his arm. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to cause him some discomfort and let part of his mind flit from worrying to dealing with the burning sensation in his arm. It did little to ease his mountain of anxiety, but he kept at it anyway even with Hank looking at him from the backseat and Logan glancing at him from the driver's seat.

Quite frankly, Charles would _love_ a nice strong bottle right now. The good stuff that would knock him on his ass for a few hours and make him forget about being a cripple.

"Charles," Hank prompted, leaning forward so his shoulders were squeezed between the front seats, head looking to him. "The longer we sit, the worse you'll feel."

"I'll feel worse if I get out," he mumbled back, scratching hand stilled when Hank lightly gripped his arm.

"We're getting out. I'll have Logan throw you over his shoulder if I have to."

_I'm really beginning to like this ballsy Hank. He's certainly developed over the years._

_I hate you all._

Charles could hear his old self chuckling until it faded and the passenger door opened, Logan there with the chair and Hank ready to help Charles move himself. He'd practiced when he'd first been confined, but after so long of not needing it, being able to walk around like he was normal, he'd gotten horribly rusty.

He looked longingly at the car as it was locked, and gripped the arms of his chair-the crappy, foldable one he had to use when he went out in public, because it was easier than loading his normal one, behemoth that it was, into the car-as they began to move forward. He hated himself for being such a coward, and also hated himself for not staying in the house.

People stared. Of course they stared. Those would be fairly easy to ignore, if he weren't also inconveniently a telepath, who could hear everything thought about him for miles around. And, because his control was less than good as it once had been, he couldn't ram any shields up to block all the thoughts. They cackled at him, pulling his mind in all directions down so many dark roads.

_Wonder who those guys are with him. The kid in the glasses looks like his brother. I'd hate to have to take care of the guy._

_Was it Vietnam? He looks fine, must've got hit with a bullet or something._

He nearly cried out at that one, but he didn't have time because all the other voices were yanking on his attention.

_How'd he end up like that?_

_Is he sick with something?_

_Looks pathetic, just sitting there like that._

_Poor guy. Wonder if it still works._

Charles breathed harshly through his nose, eyes darting beneath his sunglasses as they blinked rapidly to abate the building tears. No, no, no. No, God, shut up.

_Everyone shut up. I swear to God, shut up, all of you! Of course it still fucking works!_

_Focus on Hank. And Logan._

_Why the hell should I? _He snapped at himself, knuckles white as he grabbed harder at the chair's arms.

_You'll see. Look._

Reluctantly, Charles jumped into Logan's mind first, gasping at what he heard, and what he saw was vicious glaring on Logan's part at every person who stared. Even the children, which would be questionable if Charles weren't so desperate to escape the intense, rude, uninvited gazes of all the people on the streets.

_Fuck off. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you too. What, never seen a guy in a wheelchair before? Keep staring and you're gonna get my foot up your ass, bub. Hey, lady, I don't care if he's the most interesting thing you've ever seen, quit fucking staring at him._

Charles took a deep breath to steady himself, thankful the sunglasses perched on his nose and the thick enough beard on his cheeks hid the tears now escaping down his face. On one end of the spectrum, there were still the voices of everyone around them, so many hundreds of people staring and wondering the most accidentally rude things about him, others outright laughing and pointing at him. On the other end, Logan was steadfastly defending him. He'd never been more thankful for the large, burly man's presence before, he was sure.

He took another breath, and when they stopped at a crosswalk, he slowly reached up a hand to grasp Logan's hand wrapped around the handle of the chair. He squeezed it briefly before letting his hand return to gripping the chair arm, but he could sense the thought in reply. He shouldn't have been surprised at the skill of Logan's projection, since he'd apparently been near an older Charles for many years, but it still startled him a little.

_You're welcome, Professor._

He was more tentative about Hank's mind, afraid of breaching the younger man's trust by invading his privacy-Logan hadn't much aversions when Charles had gone into his mind before, but Hank had gotten fed up after the first year or so of living with a much drunker Charles. He also didn't want to face the fact that he'd been an asshole to Hank and yet the man was still loyal, but he sighed and did it anyway. Put on his boots and face his mistakes.

There was the undercurrent of slight bitterness on Hank's part, but it was more than deserved for Charles to have to see it. He ignored it and let the stream of consciousness that was Hank's current thoughts flow through his mind.

_You've got to be kidding me. Really? You cannot possibly find something better with which to occupy your time than staring impolitely at a man in a wheelchair? Pathetic._

_Take a picture with your camera, it'll last longer._

_I could have sworn senior citizens were supposed to be polite and kind. Quit staring, miss. It's unbecoming of your appearance as a sweet old lady._

_This is ludicrous. I should have brought a sign so I could wave it in the air, announcing to everyone we passed that it is extremely rude to gawk at a disabled person._

_Heh. Or perhaps I could have simply let Beast come out. Walk around all blue, furry, and leonine, roar at anyone who stares at myself or Charles._

Charles expelled a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, discreetly reaching up to wipe the remaining tears from his face. _I have the best possible allies in this world_. Letting a feeling of warmth and gratitude move to Hank's consciousness, he offered up a small smile. Hank returned it, his brow furrowing for a moment as he considered something, before Charles felt a sort of portal open up, so that Hank could project, or throw out, a thought to him through that portal in his mind.

_You're not alone._


	3. A Reverse Sampson

Thank you Phoenixhp5t3, sirensbane, NotMarge, and PuraStones for leaving me reviews! It's wonderful to hear feedback from so many people! And NotMarge, I'm flattered to be your literary hero. :D Also, adding this update because technically I posted chapter 2 _yesterday_, so I can still post a new one today. Also, thank you to NotMarge again for inspiring me to use my OC in this, who isn't very sweet to Hank like your Hope character is, haha. If anyone gets a chance, I highly recommend reading NotMarge's trilogy, starting with In Between.

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_I love the bones of you that I will never escape.  
_– _Elbow_

Charles had to appreciate the fact that the hair stylist didn't bat an eye when he rolled into the barber shop, and her thoughts were equally vacant of any rudeness.

_Oh, he's in a wheelchair. Man, I hope he lets me shave his head. Anything would look better than all these hippies with long hair. The only thing the guy's missing to look like John Lennon is the little glasses. If he wanted to join a commune, he just needs tie-dye._

_Oh, good _God_, the guy next to him has even worse hair. Pointed twice? Really? Is he aiming to look like a little devil? Well… big devil. If I could somehow ignore the hair, I'd hit that._

_That third guy… _Charles could almost hear her sigh wistfully. _Come to me, my sweet. Mama's gonna climb you like a tree tonight._

It was literally _all_ his restraint put into the effort of not bursting out laughing. He'd end up looking like a madman and also fall out of his chair. He decided it wouldn't be worth it, but only just barely not worth it.

Despite his efforts, he did snort quietly. Just a little. He couldn't help it, the woman's thoughts about sleeping with Hank were hollering at his brain. To distract himself, he admittedly dug his fingernails into his palm as he used his other hand to show the hair stylist-Denise, that was her name-an older picture of him. From 1962, when things had been fine and dandy. When he didn't wake up gritting his teeth in pain and really wanting to take up a morphine addiction.

_Ah, poor guy-_

Charles inwardly cringed, bracing himself to hear the next train of thought from Denise, undoubtedly words of pity because in that picture he wasn't in the chair.

_-has really let his hair go, damn._

The words that came, however, were decidedly _not_ what a normal person would be thinking. Which made him want to reach up, grab Denise's shirt collar, and pull her down for a kiss of gratitude.

_Denise, you're lovely, you know that?_

He couldn't resist, and dug a little deeper, seeing flashes of Denise's memories of her boyfriend, who made sure to tell her she was lovely, actually. And, much to Charles's amusement, he was one of those hippies with long hair Denise had been muttering about earlier.

_Love is blindness, isn't it, Charles?_

He chuckled mentally at his old self. _Yes, indeed it is._

* * *

"Well, what d'ya think?" Denise questioned eagerly once she was finished. He'd opted to keep his beard, since his old self hadn't made any complaints about that.

For now his hair was…

_Oh, _wonderful_, just splendid! It looks the same as it used to!_

His old self was extremely giddy at the sight facing Charles in the mirror, and he smiled widely up at Denise. "It looks much better, thank you very much."

Denise swiveled around the salon chair, taking the cape off him and beginning to sweep around the chair. "Well, fellas," she began, now Logan and Hank had come over, "He look a lot better than he did?"

Hank nodded enthusiastically, while Logan rolled his eyes. "Chuck, you ever think about cuttin' it shorter?"

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. "Stop calling me that."

Chuckling, Hank helped him back into his chair, and Charles thanked Denise again. Soon enough, they were out the door and traveling down the sidewalk, Charles feeling…

Well, much more confident, to say the least. Stronger. It was amazing what a simple sprucing up of his physical appearance could do for him, but the proof was definitely there.

"So, while we're out and about, is there anything you would like to do?" Hank and Logan both shrugged noncommittally, and Charles chuckled a bit. "We're a lively bunch."

"Well… there's an ice cream place nearby," Hank suggested tentatively.

"Ice cream at ten in the morning?"

"You can't talk, Mister 'I drink at least three beers before noon,'" Hank replied heatedly.

Charles laughed a little. "I can eat ice cream at ten in the morning. I used to when I was younger." He stopped then, because that brought a whole slew of memories, all where he was accompanied by a little blue or blonde girl. "Ice cream is fine," he managed to grind out, looking down at his lap.

They made their way to the ice cream parlor, finding only an older couple and the girl behind the counter inside. Charles looked over the flavors, finally settling on mint chocolate chip in a waffle cone, because he considered sugar cones to be sacrilege. Logan muttered about ice cream at ten am again before choosing rocky road.

"What will you have?" The girl asked, turning to Hank.

Hank spluttered, and Charles realized the girl had caught Hank staring at her. His face turned bright red despite his attempts to brush it off and move on, much to Hank's chagrin, and Charles suppressed a snicker while Logan outright snorted at him. "Uh, I'll uh… what's… what's that one?" Hank randomly pointed at an ice cream tub behind the glass, shoving his other hand in his pocket in embarrassment.

The girl raised an eyebrow at him. "You can't read it yourself?"

_Poor Hank. Looks ready to have a hole open up and swallow him._

"Uh… no?" Hank shut his eyes then and stammered out. "I mean, yes, yes, I can read it." He leaned forward, straightening once his eyes scanned the label. "Uh… vanilla, please," he said quietly, not meeting the girl's eyes.

"That'll be $4.75," the girl told them, taking the cash Hank awkwardly offered and giving him a quarter back. "Get your glasses checked before you order ice cream again," the girl told Hank, causing him to redden anew as he turned away.

Charles chuckled before licking a big glob of ice cream off his cone, humming quietly at the sweet taste. He let himself remember a few, quick flashes of his childhood. Giving Raven a boost up to reach the freezer and drag the ice cream out, grabbing two spoons and feasting on it straight from the tub while hiding out in the servants' quarters. Giggling because they'd fooled Sharon and Kurt, and Cain was at boarding school.

"Remembering stuff?" Logan asked as he chomped a big piece of cone off.

He nodded, taking another… bite-lick from his ice cream. "How's that vanilla?"

Hank looked down at the table. "Fine," he mumbled, half-heartedly licking the white substance and glancing back at the girl behind the counter, who was wiping up ice cream drips.

"Oh, no need to be so embarrassed. Took me a good while to figure out women."

Logan snorted, stuffing the last of the cone and ice cream in his mouth. He brushed off his hands and stood up, going back to the counter to order another cone.

"I bring great shame to the Xavier household," Hank muttered, sighing.

Charles patted his shoulder comfortingly. "You'll figure women out eventually, my friend. For now, just try to remember to read labels and not get so… sunburnt-looking."

Hank nodded defeatedly, licking his ice cream again. "Is it sad I don't even know anything about attraction beyond the scientific aspect?"

"A bit, yes."

Hank moaned quietly, scrubbing his hand over his face.

"Hey, Beast, I think that girl has the hots for ya."

Charles jumped a little when Hank dropped his head on the table in reply.


	4. Remembrance

_So now I feel guilty coming back to shatter everyone's hearts, especially after that last happy chapter. But it has to be done, since Charles is pretty bipolar at the moment. Thank you very much, however, to sirensbane, NotMarge, PuraStones, and Phoenixhp5t3 for leaving reviews! I'm pleased you all had such good things to say. And yes, that's THE new OC I was telling you about, NotMarge._

* * *

_Take a step and come out of the shade.  
I can tell you're no longer afraid.  
_– _The Perishers_

"Charles?"

"Over here," he called, and Charles looked to his left to see a rather comfortable lounge set into the floor, his old self in a grey suit as he sipped a martini.

Charles approached slowly, sitting on the couch across from his old self and allowing a bottle of water to appear in his hand so he'd have something to drink, seeing as his old self from '62 wasn't exactly about to stock up on non-alcoholic beverages.

"So, ready to talk?"

"We're walking, aren't we?"

"Deep into your mind."

Charles sighed and took a drink of water. "Give me a minute."

"It's been a minute," Charles spoke up after a short bit, pointing at his Rolex.

"Fuck off, pretty boy."

Charles barked a laugh and stood, martini glass disappearing from his grasp as he approached himself. "Let's go, we need to get through this before your alarm goes off."

He sighed and stood up, following himself out of the lounge to the vast whiteness of the astral plane, the scenery changing to-

"I'm _not_ going out there, damn you!" He spat at Charles, turning around and storming off, only to suddenly have the dock beneath his feet disappear and for him to fall in the water.

"You have to-"

Charles's head went under the water again, his old self's voice muffled until he bobbed back up again.

"-live through it again-"

He gasped as he came up once more, kicking to stay above the violent waves.

"-whether you like it or not!"

Head whipping around, he saw a light under the water, and a figure speeding through the water after it.

"Erik!" He called out, kicking his legs and diving under water to swim faster. He came up for air once, then dove down again to wrap his arms around the man.

The scene melted away the moment he touched Erik, and he blinked as he looked up at the night sky, as well as the top of the CIA complex they'd lived in that summer.

The glass door opened to his left and Erik strode out, fully dressed to take off and leave… just as he always had, and always would.

Words leaving his mouth before he could stop them, because this was a memory, he walked forward after Erik and stopped as he did.

"What do you know about me?"

"Everything." That was apparently the biggest lie he'd told himself his whole life. He didn't know Erik a damn bit.

"Then you'll know to stay out of my head."

"Fuck you!" He snapped, striding forward and hellbent on hitting Erik in the stomach, but the second he touched Erik's shoulder to turn him around, the scene left again.

This time, it was Russia. He was sitting, rocking side to side as the old truck rumbled along the muddy roads. His and Erik's shoulders kept bumping together painfully, and it was all they could do not to have their heads crack together on more than one occasion.

The scene blurred for a moment, Charles recognizing it as speeding up, and suddenly he was standing up, fingers to his temple as the doors opened. Suddenly, it became a bloodbath as Charles fell backward, a bullet hitting him in the shoulder and the soldiers leaping out of the truck to kill the Soviets despite their comrades falling in gorey shows. Erik ripped the available metal from the truck, forming a temporary barrier as he knelt next to Charles, his hand touching the man's unhurt shoulder.

The scene melted again, but instead of going to another, his old self appeared, face stricken. "You're… you've lost yourself more than I thought."

He looked away, reaching up to touch his hair. It was all a facade. He'd cut his hair so he'd begin to look like he used to again. So he could regain what he'd lost.

But it wasn't any better than him using the serum, was it? He could never have that back. He would always be this pathetic shell of the man he'd once been, so long ago. He couldn't pretend anymore. This was it for him. He could never be that man Logan had somehow known. He could never improve and be a proper friend to Hank, let alone reopen the school and provide any kind of place for mutants to live happily.

No. He'd had his chance years ago, and blown it. He should have let Erik die-

"No!" His old self slapped him hard across the face, the force of it knocking him to the floor. Charles blinked dazedly, head lolling as he tried to clear it past the stars blossoming across his vision, but he didn't have time as Charles yanked him up by his shirt collar and brought them nose to nose.

"You should _never_ have let Erik die," Charles growled lowly, leveling a glare on himself. "You cannot begin to understand the pain he suffers every day, and the sooner you accept that and get off your self-pitying pedestal, the sooner you can move on with your life." He shook Charles roughly. "The sooner you can accept that I'm not the only one in your head now."

He blinked hard, staring at Charles. "Wh…"

Charles let go of his shirt collar, but grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. "This way, you idiot. Go through the rest of your memories of Erik and I'll meet you on the other side." With that, he opened a door to a dark void, and tossed Charles through it.

He landed on the grass outside Cerebro Mark I, and Charles stood up, brushing grass off his pants before making his way to the door and up the stairs. He arrived in the globe somehow just as everyone else did, though he'd been alone up until that point, but he didn't have time to question it as the memory ruled his actions. Grasping the helmet, he pulled it down on his head, clasping his hands behind his back.

"What an adorable labrat you make, Charles."

"Don't spoil this for me, Erik."

Erik made a small noise of amusement, though Charles saw clearly now the pain in his eyes as he uttered his next sentence. "I've been a labrat. I know one when I see one."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, and reached out to touch Erik's shoulder in time for the scenery to switch over to them playing chess in the middle of the night. Oh, right, when they'd been in New York City, picking up Darwin.

Erik was wearing a turtleneck under his sleep shirt, pants falling to his feet and socks from that day still on. Meanwhile, Charles was barefoot in a t-shirt and boxers. He recalled Erik hadn't been cold, not in the least. Merely refused to allow Charles to see the scars littered all over his body.

"I don't want to talk," Erik muttered. "I'm tired."

"Not even about the weather? Or the city? Or Darwin?"

"What is there to talk about that we haven't already discussed the whole day?"

"Oh, don't be so dour, goodness. My friend, you need to be a bit more positive about things. It makes the day go by faster."

"You do recognize you're talking to _me_, correct?"

"... Yes?" He hedged, unsure where this was going.

"You also recognize I had the absolute pleasure of watching my mother die, correct?" Erik flicked his king over in unnecessary surrender and stood, going back to his own bed. "Good _night_, Charles."

He ventured forward as he hadn't done in reality, touching Erik's arm as the scene changed again, this time to the front of Charles's… castle. Sean had fallen asleep in the truck, he remembered, and woken up blearily looking around before asking when they'd gotten to England. Raven had started laughing and explained they were in New York, but Sean had hardly believed her.

Charles cringed as he approached the proper place leaning on the stone fence between the gravel roadway and the rest of the grounds, doing just that and looking to his left at Erik. He couldn't help but smile, and Erik was grinning and trembling all at once. Reaching out to pat his shoulder, he was swiftly dumped into the study, playing chess again.

"I'm not going to stop Shaw-I'm going to kill him. Do you have it in you to allow that?"

Technically, yes, he did. At the time he'd been concerned with Erik ending the driving force in his life and being suddenly left with no purpose, which he knew would then push Erik into the chasm of depression.

Which would finally end in Erik killing himself. Charles smiled ruefully and leaned forward to observe the board as Erik gazed at him, leveling that intense stare on the younger man as he did to all those who Erik had questioned.

"You've known all along why I was here, Charles, but things have changed. What started as a covert mission… tomorrow, mankind will know that mutants exist. Shaw, us-they won't differentiate. They'll fear us… and that fear will turn to hatred."

Spilling his soul to Charles, his worst fears born from a stolen childhood implied in those words, and all Charles had done at the time was preach about his idea of peace… coexistence… being hailed as heroes rather than feared for what they could do. He scoffed now and looked up at Erik.

"I know."

He couldn't go on with this memory. It lead further into the night of Charles and Erik arguing, back and forth without sight of an end, until finally Erik had been the one to storm off around midnight, leaving Charles wilting in his wake, standing alone in the study and having no idea that life as he knew it would be over the next day.

With that, he reached forward and tapped Erik's hand with his index finger, the scene changing to him lying in agony on the sand.

He ignored the words and let the back of his hand fall against Erik's chest, just to get this scene out of his sight. He'd faced it long ago… about the only thing he _had_ faced, really. The anger still simmered, boiling over every time he came face to face with Erik again, but he'd faced it and didn't care anymore about Cuba. He couldn't change anything.

If only he could take that attitude with everything else that had happened.


	5. Erik is a Terrible Influence

_Thank you again to NotMarge for leaving a review! Charles isn't on acid, I swear, he's just going through a rough patch with his telepathy. The astral plane is weird stuff, man. Here's where we finally get to the root of that "third mind" in the summary. Enjoy. Also, if anyone gets a chance, you **need** to check out the Bent Bullet website they set up for DOFP. Whoever wrote that fictional article was a freaking genius, and I was flitting between having my mind blown and then laughing at the genius of it. Plus, there's also a good portion of sadness from the timeline of mutant history. I burst into tears when I got to the point in time where Hank was killed. Plus, the site will give you spoilers for the future of this fic, actually._

* * *

_We had the drive and the time on our hands.  
One little room and the biggest of plans.  
_– _Elbow_

Taking a breath, he opened his eyes to find himself in the hospital room where he'd lain for weeks after Cuba.

Erik's face was twisted into something unrecognizable, unfamiliar in relation to the man. Sadness. Regret. Agony. The words that left his lips were even more surprising, though Charles had suspected for years that nighttime visit hadn't been a hallucination from his drug-addled, trauma-suffering mind.

"Forgive me, Charles. I never meant you to come to harm that day."

He sat up then, looking hard at Erik while the man continued to mutter apologies and his regrets about the outcome of Cuba.

"I'm so sorry."

"No, you're not," Charles told him matter-of-factly. "You're only sorry that I had to become a cripple in order for you to execute your plan of world domination. You're not sorry about anything else, though. Not even sorry for taking Raven from me."

With that, he tapped Erik's forearm and let himself be dragged to the next memory.

Of a courtroom.

Charles grimaced as he sat next to Hank in 1964, in the front row of the audience to Erik's court trial after Kennedy's murder. He stretched his legs now, just for the hell of it, because in reality he hadn't been able to until '66, when Hank had figured out the serum for Charles after much begging on the telepath's part.

He sighed then, because he wouldn't be able to get to Erik and move on to the next memory unless he stood and went past the gate to the floor. With that in mind, he began to inch into a standing position, wanting to hear the trial again and Erik's pathetic defense for some morbid reason. Maybe he liked seeing Erik fail so horribly.

He and Hank had only gotten into the trial because of his telepathic influence, due to its closed-to-the-public nature. Charles made his way to the gate, watching Erik as the man gave his testimony at the stand.

"Oswald did not kill Kennedy. The true murderer is still very much at large, I assure you. And will likely never be caught."

The prosecution demanded Erik "put his money where his mouth was" and prove he could move metal, prove he was there to stop Kennedy's assassination.

On command, Erik took the offered crowbar and levitated it in the air, stretching out a hand and curling his fingers inward, forcing the crowbar to bend in half.

The court went wild, audience screaming while the lawyers were shocked, the judge viciously banging his gavel in a fruitless effort to shut everyone up. Charles stepped through the gate, looking back at Hank, who he remembered flinching from accidentally being smacked by a man flailing wildly in outrage at Erik's power display. Hank adjusted the glasses on his face, shrinking down to avoid any more blows.

He turned to face the floor again, narrowing his eyes at Erik as the memory sped up to Erik making his own closing argument. He'd always had a way with words, certainly. A man with such genius intellect very well should have a proper command of language, as Erik did.

"I did not shoot your president, but I know who did, and you'll never find her. She has a way of hiding in plain sight."

Charles was disgusted at Erik for throwing Emma Frost under the bus, blaming her for everything. She wasn't that skilled of a telepath. She couldn't hide from everyone. Erik was the only one at fault. Even after the man's quiet confession on the plane to Paris, Charles still didn't believe him. Erik had too much motivation not to try and kill Kennedy.

Something still nagged him, even now as he strode forward, having heard enough, and clasped his hand on Erik's shoulder.

No, Erik had killed Kennedy and blamed Emma for it… right?

* * *

Charles blinked open his eyes and stared at the elevator doors, watching in slow motion as they opened to reveal Erik. He let go completely, letting the memory run its course because this was exactly how he wanted to treat Erik after all the horrible things he'd done.

His fist slammed into Erik's jaw, the force causing the older man's head to snap back as he crumpled to the floor. Charles glared down at him, breathing hard from absolute rage, as Erik merely wiped away the slight blood from his mouth and smiled up at him.

"Good to see you too, old friend." Erik stood up, adding, "And walking."

At the time, he'd only let that comment slide because they had work to do and Charles didn't have time to kick Erik between the legs. Now, though…

He did it, forcing the memory to change as his shoe connected with Erik's balls, and Erik's face twisted in pain just as the memory melted into Charles's private jet.

Damn. He'd really wanted to watch Erik crumple on the floor again.

"I haven't had a real sip in ten years."

Erik took a drink of scotch, closing his eyes as he savored the taste.

Charles jolted when he realized his mind had skipped the part where he'd grabbed Erik's shirt and screamed in his face, before Erik had retaliated by threatening to crash the plane and snapped back at him that he'd abandoned their kind.

Erik was… touch-starved, he recalled. He couldn't bring himself to have pity, even now.

He'd brought everything on himself.

Reaching out, sighing as he did, Charles let his hand fall on Erik's forearm, letting the memory slip away to Paris.

Thankfully, he didn't have to see his sister run across the room and leap out the window, because the moment he tackled Erik to the floor, the memory shifted again.

"You're getting closer to the end," his old self called, the voice distant.

So that's why everything was speeding up.

The next memory was Washington. He dove out of his chair as he looked up at the falling debris from the stadium. _Erik, I swear to God, when I said I wanted to go to a baseball game with you sometime, I didn't mean this._

He could almost hear Erik's voice snapping in reply. _You never appreciate anything I do._

He fell roughly on the ground, crying out as chunks of concrete fell on his legs anyway, breaking them in several places. He'd stayed in the hospital for that, though it wasn't as though it was going to be any different from normal once he got out. He was in a wheelchair already. The upside was he didn't have to do physical therapy. No doctor had seen a point in it since his legs were useless.

Hank pulled him upright, face panicked. Near tears, from pain after being thrown into a car, still twitching a bit from the electric shock of using his teeth to rip through the Sentinel's wiring, the coolant fluid having gone up his nose and making it burn in agony. And from worry, because after all the years he'd spent taking care of a wallowing useless addict, he still considered Charles his friend.

They did only have each other at that point, after all. They'd grown close despite Charles's distance from the world itself, and they'd dealt with things together. He shook his head to clear it, not wanting to remember all those things now. He looked across the field at Erik, then began walking. Because he could on the astral plane, no matter the state of his physical body. He walked in tattered clothes, feeling the blood congeal and grow sticky on his face.

"If you let them have me, I'm as good as dead. You know that."

"I know," he responded as he really had.

"Goodbye, old friend."

"Goodbye, _Erik_," he bit out, hating the man for using such a fond term when they were so incredibly far from friendship.

But… he had to get through this.

So he touched Erik despite his mind recoiling at the thought, and the memories all crumbled away. Leaving only a passage, the door swung open to reveal darkness.

"Down here!" His old self called, beckoning him from within the darkness.

He went, and started a bit when the door slammed shut behind him. This was… not going well, already.

Suddenly, a light came on, so many melting candles around the room. It was like a dungeon, only without the torture devices lying about. Just a stone room with candles, and two of him standing on the opposite end of the room. He blinked, looking at the newcomer, who smiled sickeningly.

"Charles, old buddy, old pal, I'd like you to meet your id… Onslaught."

Onslaught, still smiling in that twisted way, gave a small wave.

Charles backed away, but whirled around when Onslaught appeared behind him.

"Going somewhere, Charlie boy?"

He nearly fainted from the nickname, memories slamming into him at the words.

"_Who do you think that is?" Raven asked from where she sat next to him on the windowseat, looking out the glass at the car below, where a teenager had gotten out._

"_Not sure. Want me to check, or go into this blind when we're introduced downstairs?"_

_Raven gave him a look, and Charles placated her with a "fine" before putting two fingers to his temple and delving into Kurt's mind as the man walked over to the teenager._

"_It's… Cain. Kurt's son."_

"_Cain? What kind of name is tha-" They both blinked then, Raven biting her lip. "You don't think it's… _that _Cain, do you?"_

"_I um…" Charles cleared his throat nervously. "I think it is indeed _that _Cain."_

Onslaught smirked down at Charles, who was gripping his head as he crouched pitifully on the floor, trying to recover. "Really? That's not even the worst of it, Charlie."

"Stop calling me that," he moaned, shaking his head to dispel the memory completely.

"Onslaught, stop it. We're here to talk, not torture," Charles's old self, who he now recognized as his conscience, his superego, walked forward and spoke up. He wrapped an arm around Charles and helped him stand.

"Oh, shut up, goody two shoes."

Charles rubbed his temple, looking between his superego and id. "Both of you…" He shook his head sharply, glaring at them. "Get the fuck back in your cages, dammit."

Onslaught barked a laugh, the other Charles grimacing. "I'm afraid we can't," the latter said softly. "You see… we're here to help you sort out your very scattered mind… and admittedly talk about Erik."

"What? What does he have to do with anything? He's gone!" Charles ground out.

Onslaught landed a slap across Charles's face. "I was fairly harmless, living as your id for so long. You could control me, right? You let me come out to play when you were at Oxford. But once you met Erik…" He spread his arms wide, blue eyes so frightening. Different from anything Charles had seen when he looked in a mirror. "He's a bad influence. So your id mutated and became me."

"He's monstrous, Charles," his superego informed him, earning a growl from Onslaught.

"God… I don't…" He groaned and held up his hands, warning neither side to get closer. "How am I supposed to deal with this?"

They both shrugged, Onslaught seeming uncaring while his superego seemed pained.

"Fuck you both."

"No thanks," his superego responded.

"Yes please," Onslaught replied.

Charles growled and turned away, crossing his arms. "So this is… your domain, Onslaught?"

"Indeed it is."

"Where do you live, superego?"

The scene changed to the meadow, the forest, the treehouse Charles recalled so fondly from his childhood. Where he'd spent hours upon hours with Raven.

"Should've guessed," Onslaught muttered, "This place is so full of puppies and rainbows, it makes me sick."

"Shut up," Charles's superego told him harshly.

"What…" Charles looked up at the sunny sky. "What do I need to do?" He asked quietly.

Onslaught and superego shared a knowing look, both seeming to agree on something, at least.

"Erik's doing something. You need to deal with that."

"What are you- what is he doing?"

"You'll… well…" Superego shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not at liberty to discuss all the details. Let's just say it'll help you find a balance between us, finally. Onslaught hates all the altruism, and I hate all the selfishness."

"Balance, I guess I can admit, will be good," Onslaught said, picking at his nails boredly.

"Right… but what is this thing Erik is doing?"

"Give him a few more months to come back here. He'll be bringing someone with him."

"It's…" Charles swallowed, shutting his eyes. "Too much to ask that it'd be Raven."

Onslaught and Superego nodded in confirmation.

"And you're not 'at liberty' to discuss who that someone is."

Another collective nod.

Charles sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "So… balance?"

"Precisely," Onslaught answered for Superego. "Though since I'm the selfish side, I'm not exactly a willing party here. You'll have to practically wrestle a giant bear-shark hybrid to get me to cooperate with this whole idea of sophrosyne."

He managed to work up a glare. "You're not going to fuck things up for me again."

Onslaught smirked. "We'll see."

With that, he left in a puff of smoke. Charles rolled his eyes at the cliché, looking to Superego for guidance.

"I can't tell you what to do. Only give you the advice your older self gave you. 'Just because someone stumbles, loses their way-'"

"'Doesn't mean they're lost forever,'" Charles finished, smiling just a tiny bit. "I'll… that's my mantra. I'll um… go… you know, spread the brotherly love around the world. Play the bongos, make empathy beads…" Charles made a face. "Make love in the woods with a girl who's higher than a kite and I've only just met."

Superego went into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. "You do that. I'm going to go enjoy another martini and fantasize about that girl with heterochromia."

Charles rolled his eyes. "Have fun."

"Oh, I will, believe me." He flashed Charles a winning smile, then in the next blink of an eye, he was gone.

In the next moment, a grating noise made him groan in exasperation. The buzzing noise flicked off and on, relentlessly yanking his mind out of sleep into the waking world. He only let himself wake up because he wanted to shut off the damn alarm and get _rid _of that noise.

For sure, he'd never been a morning person.


	6. Hope

_Alright, guys, ready for part 2? I divided it into parts so I could have a realistic time skip. So the part in chapter 5 to "when I said I wanted to got a baseball game with you, I didn't mean this" and Erik's reply of "you never appreciate anything I do" was actually a reference to a funny piece of fanart from DOFP I saw a short while ago. I don't know who the artist is, but I wanted to include it in here since I had nowhere else to put it. Thank you very, very much to NotMarge, TheAngelofFate, mpathy, brigid1318, and Phoenixhp5t3 for leaving reviews! I always love reading your guys' feedback. brigid, don't worry, ice cream girl will definitely show up again. Phoenix, NotMarge, I'm glad I could tickle your fancy with the psychology bits. Angel, don't worry, they'll be friends again in time.  
_

* * *

**Part II**

**Her**

_I go nowhere high, go nowhere warm,  
until you're by my side.  
_– _Kate Havnevik_

Charles shouldn't have told Logan, Cecilia, and Hank it was alright to go into town. Really shouldn't have told them it was alright.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed the joystick forward on the chair, gripping his head with his other hand and wishing the voices would shut up. He'd been hopelessly struggling to get everything to quiet down for months now, Onslaught doing his damnedest to make Charles's life a living Hell, and he was certainly succeeding.

His superego was doing his best to help Charles, but it was hard when it was a conscience, the source of all good, battling the desire, the source of all evil. Charles moaned, panting a little as he stopped the chair and grabbed at his head with both hands now.

Superego had told Charles to call him Francis, Charles's middle name, in order to have a proper name than just "superego" or "conscience." Or, as Onslaught liked to call him, "that goody bastard."

Currently, Onslaught was having a field day showing Charles and Francis the memory which made them both howl in agony, screaming for help from Raven, who would only arrive at the last second and bash in Cain's head with a baseball bat. Charles's old bat that he'd carried with him when he was investigating the foreign mind in the house, who turned out to be his sister eventually.

The memory was the reason Charles had become so loose and eager with sexual relations. Why he'd always slightly relished in being able to have telepathic influence over anyone on a whim.

Why he'd felt so crippled and afraid when the helmet, designed by Shaw, had come into existence.

It was all about power. Life was a game of power, and the power only went to those who were just cunning enough to grab it for themselves.

Charles hissed in pain and wrapped his arms around himself, rocking back and forth as he tried to breathe deeply and slowly. In and out. In and out.

His mantra and deep breathing were rudely interrupted when the pain spiked, and he was so startled he fell into the floor, gasping for breath. No, no, no, no-

_Onslaught, that's enough! _He cried out, hearing Raven's voice echoing in his head as she had when that memory had been reality.

"Charles! Charles, what's wrong?"

She hadn't asked him what was wrong, though. She'd known very well what was going on and had instead told him to run between her swings of the bat into Cain's body.

Wait… that voice… wasn't Raven.

"Erik?" He mumbled, eyelids fluttering as he tried to open them. Oh… no, not a good idea. He moaned and the grip he had on his head tightened as he hissed between gritted teeth.

"Charles-"

"Shhh," he told Erik roughly, crying out again.

He felt a hand come to rest on his forehead, and Charles was surprised to find it wasn't covered in a glove, due to the nature of Erik's attire nowadays. He cracked one eye open, looking Erik over and becoming even more surprised to find the man dressed in simple khakis and a turtleneck, as he used to in the early sixties.

He sincerely hoped this wasn't a hallucination on one hand, because he wanted Erik to be really there and looking a bit like his old self again, and be worried about Charles. On the other hand, he wanted Erik to not be real so Charles wouldn't have to deal with the man once he felt slightly better.

For now, he'd milk it a little. Moaning again when the pain ebbed, he grasped at Erik's wrist. "Can you…" He took a breath, exhaustion setting in. "Help me to my room?"

Erik nodded once, picking Charles up, straining until he set the man in his chair. That's right-Erik had never been overly strong. Sure, he could easily take a man out in hand to hand combat, but the German was lean and wiry, relying more on agility and his affinity with metal than raw power and strength.

Erik kindly pushed him to his room, helping him lie on top of the neatly made bed. Charles dove his hand under the pillow, grabbing the framed photograph of Raven and clutching to this chest, pathetically. But that photo had been his lifeline the past few months, along with his comrades' undying support-if not filled with snark-and he wasn't about to let it go, not now when his mind was occupied with a memory of Raven being his savior.

He must've lost consciousness, at least for a short while, because when he woke, Erik was sitting in a chair, holding something- no, cradling it, in his arms. Charles blinked and set the picture of Raven to the side, slowly sitting up and still watching Erik and whatever was in the older man's grasp.

"Good, you didn't die."

Charles snorted at that, leaning against the headboard. "Why are you here?"

Erik nodded down at the bundle in his arms, and Charles leaned forward to peer closer.

_Holy hell, Francis, Onslaught, you couldn't have given me even _slight _warning?_

_Too easy, _Onslaught replied.

_Sorry, my friend, _Francis apologized.

"Ah… um… is it yours?"

Another singular nod.

_Fantastic. Just what I needed to deal with… wait…_

Francis's smile could be felt all around Charles's head. _Just what I was telling you about, the one who will bring you balance._

_And all that cheesy medieval prophecy bullshit._

Charles sighed and tiredly rubbed his temples. "You owe me full explanations, understand? When I ask a question, you answer it without getting defensive. Capisce?"

Erik narrowed his eyes, but nodded once again.

"Boy or girl? How old is it? Who's the mother? Where is the mother? Where was the child born? Any siblings? When did you meet the mother?"

He stopped there, because though he and Erik had a temporary understanding, if he asked too many questions too quickly, he'd ruin his chances at getting any information.

"Girl," Erik started quietly. "One month old. The mother's name was Magda." Charles took note of the past tense, realizing the woman must be dead… and he prayed to some higher power that Erik hadn't ended the woman's life. "My daughter was born in Germany. No siblings unless you count her half-brother, that Maximoff boy. I met Magda in France, years ago."

"How did… Magda die?"

Erik looked away, still grieved. "An infection from childbirth. It was… only a week after Lorna was born."

"Lorna," Charles echoed, looking at the small girl again. "I'm assuming by years ago and the location being France, that… it was after…?" _After the camps were liberated?_

Erik nodded in confirmation, unwilling to meet Charles's eyes.

"So why have you brought your daughter here?"

The older man met his gaze then, stare haunted. "I knew she'd be safe here."

Charles let the implication crash over him, and he broke through the wave angrily. "So you thought you'd just _abandon_ your daughter here?" Ignoring Erik's wince, he continued his tirade. "You're a piece of work, Erik. This isn't a school anymore. The only people living here are a recovering alcoholic, a smoker with claws, and a man who can turn into a hairy blue beast on command! This is no place for children! Why can't you take care of Lorna yourself, anyway?" He spat out viciously, glaring fire at the man he'd delusionally once called friend. "She's your daughter! You can't give up your sociopathic crusade in order to take care of your own flesh and blood?"

Erik stared at him, and started to open his mouth, but closed it again.

"What?" Charles growled, before noticing the wetness on his upper lip, then tasted the familiar copper tang. He reached a hand up to dab at his nose, confirming he was, in fact, having a nosebleed.

_Thanks, Onslaught. You're a pal, _Charles said sarcastically.

_You're welcome, _Onslaught replied cheerfully. _Nighty night, Charlie-boy._

_I hate you._

* * *

"What exactly is wrong with you?"

Charles didn't look away from where he watched the rain pour down on the grounds outside, shifting a little as he leaned against the wall and resting his head on the window's glass.

"Charles," Erik tried again, holding a sleeping Lorna against his shoulder.

Sighing, Charles scrubbed his face with one hand. "I… it's a psychological battle… which is your fault, I might add."

"How is it my fault?" Erik's tone was less accusatory, more curious to know the truth.

Charles gestured for Erik to sit across from him on the windowseat. "There are three parts to the mind: the id, the ego, and the superego." He held up a hand and counted them out on his fingers. "The id," he held up his index finger, "is all desire. Whatever you want, the id seeks to obtain that, by any means and no matter who gets hurt in the process." He gave Erik a hard look. "Your id tends to rule you, but I digress."

Unfolding his ring finger again to hold it up with his index finger, he continued. "The superego is your conscience. Your moral compass, always pointing north and up to altruism. Helping others and hating when people are hurt as the result of your actions."

He unfolded his middle finger and held it up with the other two. "The ego is you, as you present yourself to the world. The ego is a balance between desire and obligation. The ego recognizes some people get hurt in the world, and you have to get past that because not everyone can be pleased. The ego also recognizes that you can't have everything you want and sacrifices have to be made to make the world better for other people, not just you."

Erik nodded, and it belatedly occurred to Charles the man might've already known this, as avid a reader as he'd found his former friend to be long ago. Whenever they had downtime and weren't playing chess, Erik had his nose buried in a book or newspaper. He ate up everything he read and always hungered for more knowledge. Charles still somewhat admired that drive, even now, because not many people in the world so desired reading and learning as Erik Lehnsherr did.

"Now, in relation to myself, and also you, I tended to be ruled by my superego when you first met me, yes?"

"So empathetic I wanted to be sick," Erik teased a bit.

Charles managed a slight turn upward of the corners of his mouth. "In recent years, I was ruled by my id, letting myself be selfish and wallow in everything. Self-pitying, numbing everything so I didn't have to deal with something I didn't want to deal with. Hank tried to let his superego run things and be a good friend by enabling me, and now he's truly letting his conscience run his actions by telling me to pull myself up by my bootstraps and deal with things properly."

"Where are you now, I wonder?"

Charles held up a finger. "Struggling, I can tell you that much. It is a constant battle within each of us. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, as Hank likes to use that example. Man and animal, id and superego, whatever you like to call it. Sometimes people become ruled by one or the other through their actions in life, for better or worse. For better was a person like Mother Theresa. For worse… someone like Ted Bundy."

"Or Shaw," Erik muttered, looking out the window as Charles did.

"Now, normally people do not talk to themselves near as much as I end up doing… and if they do talk to themselves, they're usually taken off to a sanitarium for a while, if not forever…" He swallowed. "My mother had me committed, I admit. Should've kept my mouth shut, but my telepathy was still unfamiliar and frightening. As a result of my telepathy, my id and superego are far more personified than in a normal person. One is an asshole that lives in a dungeon and keeps a collection of knives, which are symbols of bad memories. The other is a promiscuous bleeding heart who lives in the treehouse Raven and I played in as children, and who loves martinis. I talk to them often since they're like two more people, though they have my own traits. Which certainly helps when I want to talk about books with someone."

Charles rubbed his forearm, closing his eyes. "I used to have control of my id and could make him shut up. I kept him locked in a cage when I was younger and only let him out to play when… when I wanted revenge against my mother, or stepfather, or my stepbrother. That's… why Raven didn't want me in her head as she got older. I scared her."

Erik looked at him just as Charles opened his eyes. He stayed silent, however, willing to keep his ears open and be a proper listener. Charles knew the man was filing this information carefully away, in what Charles liked to call his warehouse of filing cabinets. He'd seen it himself when he'd gone into Erik's mind. Neatly organized, while the rest of Erik's mind was chaos and tragedy and gore. There were happy memories, but they were tucked away in a cave in total isolation, and it took quite a lot of work to get there.

"Apparently, as my id and superego have confided in me, you and your mind were a bad influence on me. My id, specifically, became even more violent than it had ever been, because it was enthralled with how easily you had gotten revenge on those who wronged you, and how easily you took what you wanted. Eventually… it mutated into something horrid. Took a few years, but it grew stronger and… I think I finally snapped in '65, since I spent a year stewing about your trial."

"So that _was_ you in the audience," Erik said quietly.

"And Hank. Alex flat out refused to come. But… I felt it would give me closure, and Hank came along for emotional support." He gestured at himself. "Obviously that wasn't closure in any sense of the word."

Erik considered him for a moment. "Who do you think it was?"

"You… or Oswald, or someone. I doubt it was Emma Frost as you tried to say."

Something unfamiliar flitted across Erik's face, though Charles barely caught it as it was there and gone before he blinked.

"Anyway," Charles cleared his throat, "My id calls himself Onslaught. My superego calls himself Francis… my middle name. They've been battling each other for a few months now, since Logan came around… and I had a glimpse into the future that we averted."

Erik gave him a look of confusion, and Charles sighed. "I… fine, I'll tell you. But not a word to anyone else about it, yes?" At Erik's nod, he recounted his meeting with his older self, standing beside a greying Erik. "Both of us were old and worn out by then. But we were standing side by side, to the very end. I interacted with my own mind, and he told me a piece of sage advice I've been following as much as I can since May."

"What advice was that?"

This time, he wasn't quoting himself. He felt it deep within his chest, pulling at him to say it and put every ounce of himself into the words he truly believed now. "Just because someone stumbles, loses their way, doesn't mean they're lost forever."

Erik grew perfectly still, and had Charles walked into the room then, he could've sworn Erik was a realistic statue. He let the man sit for several moments, before deciding he might have to snap Erik out of whatever was freezing him.

"Erik?"

He jolted out of his trance, blinking and shaking his head. "Sage advice indeed."

Charles didn't pry further, allowing the metal bender to keep some semblance of privacy over his thoughts. He'd divulge it someday, Charles knew. Erik always did.

"I… looked at your mind as well," Charles confessed, surprising Erik. "I have to admit it has allowed me to feel slight sympathy for you, even after all you've done. However," he said firmly, "it does not change the fact you _have_ done many terrible things, Erik. I do not know if I can ever forgive you, let alone forget it."

"I know."

Those words were unpredictable, but what Charles needed to hear most from Erik at that moment. To know Erik acknowledged his wrongdoings and that Charles wouldn't always be there to tell him his powers were marvelous and that Erik was forgiven, of course. The man wasn't a little boy anymore, he wouldn't get Charles's eagerness and good graces. He had to work for it and earn it if he desired them once again. He looked at Lorna, who was still sleeping against Erik's shoulder, and noticed how gentle but secure his grip was on the little girl. Protective, far more so than Charles had seen in Erik before. It gave him hope.


	7. Baskin Robbins

_Thank you so dang much to Ariel-Naraya-Marjana for leaving a review on every single chapter I've updated since posting this. I appreciate the thought you put into your last review, Ariel, but I will say that's not how it works in the field of psychology, and that isn't how Charles thinks either (he's kinda biased, isn't he?). Your review, while I did like what you wrote, is how it works in fiction when a person uses the power of love to conquer all evil. Reality, however, is that desire turns people into selfish beings, since desire at its basis is a selfish thing unless your conscience goes out of its way to have you apply that desire to helping others. :) Also thank you to NotMarge and Phoenixhp5t3 for your reviews! I'm overjoyed you loved all the psychological stuff going on. And then, of course, Erik holding Lorna. Anyone would fall out of their chair from the adorableness.  
_

* * *

_Sleeplessly embracing, yawn yearns into me.  
Plenty more tears in the sea.  
_– _Alt-j_

Erik stayed through the rest of the afternoon, feeding Lorna around four o'clock and tentatively allowing Charles to hold his daughter. The protectiveness had only become more apparent from then on, Erik being noticeably terrified at letting Lorna out of his sight for even a second. Understandable, given his background, though Charles still struggled on the aspect of having sympathy for Erik.

He cooed quietly at Lorna, running a finger along her fuzzy brown hair. "She's lovely," he informed Erik, who responded with a smile.

"She is," he agreed, already more than head over heels for his little girl. Erik smiled a little wider. "She isn't quite sure what to make of you."

Charles chuckled at the puzzled expression on the baby's face. "I suppose seeing only her father all the time makes her a bit confused when other people appear."

"Well, she isn't screaming bloody murder, which I consider to be a good sign."

"Oh?" Charles glanced up. "She does that when she encounters new people?"

Erik made a small gesture. "Every single time. On the positive side, I won't have to worry about anyone kidnapping her. She'd stay far away and scream loud enough for me to hear on the other side of the world, I'm sure."

Chuckling again, he handed Lorna back to Erik, observing closely how Erik carefully took his daughter into his arms and lovingly cradled her to him. The air of protectiveness was still very much there, no less than when he'd arrived at the house.

"When are the others returning?"

Charles leaned his head against the window again, tiredly lifting up his wrist to check the Rolex there. "About three hours."

"Hm."

"Do I want to know what you're plotting now?"

"Shall I find a hotel to stay in, or simply lurk around when it's dark? Lorna doesn't cry unless she's sick, and I don't anticipate her coming down with anything."

Charles rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "No need for lurking. I'll restrain Logan to the best of my ability, and Hank harbors ill will for you, but he won't act on it unless I sic him on you."

"And the Cecilia woman?"

"She has a few choice words for you, but other than that, you'll be fine."

"Hm," Erik hummed again, absently playing with Lorna's tiny fingers. "Perhaps if I hold her constantly, Logan will stay back."

"He won't harm her, but he'll be waiting for you to slip up, I assure you."

Erik smiled darkly. "I know that game."

"I'm sure. I'm also sure you're the master of it. Logan might give you a run for your money, but unfortunately I think he'll lose."

"Of course."

* * *

Onslaught decided to very rudely give Charles a migraine after a half hour, and so he laid down with an icepack covering his forehead and eyes. "You're sure she won't cry?" Charles inquired, taking precautions since he had a feeling any loud noise would cause him more pain.

"I'm sure," Erik replied, the slight dip in the mattress telling Charles he'd sat down on the edge. "Would you like anything?"

"For you to shut up."

Erik chuckled, but said nothing more. Eventually the weight disappeared, and Charles heard quiet footsteps before the bedroom door opened and closed, leaving him in solitude.

* * *

By the time another hour and a half had passed, Charles was hungry but had no energy to eat anything, his migraine having gotten worse, not better. Rolling over halfheartedly, he lifted the icepack slightly off his head and looked around. Erik had politely drawn the curtains despite the still cloudy skies, and the mansion was dead silent.

Normally, he'd be worried at the lack of noise, but Erik had always been quiet, so he had no reason to worry. Not when he could also sense everything was fine after a quick telepathic scan of the grounds.

Sighing softly, he placed the icepack back over his eyes and let himself drift a little. It wasn't sleep, not quite, but it was the best he could get under the head-pounding circumstances.

* * *

"Hey," Hank murmured when Charles became fully awake again.

"Hey," he mumbled in return, yawning. "What time is it?"

"Six. We ordered pizza… should be here in a half hour, if you want any."

"Thank you… did you find Erik?"

"Logan tried to attack him, but stopped because Erik had an infant." Hank gave him a look. "How long has he been here?"

"Since about two." Charles winced and pressed the pads of his fingers to his right temple.

"I got you a new icepack," Hank informed him, holding up the new one.

"Thank you." Taking it, he sighed at the welcome shrinking of his blood vessels. "Could you help me into my chair? I'm clumsier than normal."

Hank dutifully assisted him, walking alongside him to the elevator down the hall. "Is he staying?"

"I don't know."

They both knew that was the best answer anyone could give at this point.

* * *

"Look, bub, I don't like you and I think you're a real son of a bitch."

"Fair enough."

Charles watched the exchange warily from his seat at the head of the table, using utensils to eat his own pizza while everyone else had made fun of him for the first several minutes.

"At least we understand each other, then," Logan told him, to which Erik responded with a mere nod.

He breathed an inward sigh of relief that no one had been maimed or drowned or had metal wires shoved through their bodies during that encounter. Progress.

Cecilia rolled her eyes at the two men and took another bite of pizza, Hank staring steadfastly at his plate and refusing to look at Erik. Charles could sense the man was tightly wound, and if he looked at Erik, he might end up leaping across the table and throttling him. And he'd succeed in choking Erik this time, Charles knew.

"So… how was your day?" Charles asked, hoping to slightly ease the tension.

"Fine," Hank muttered, peeling the gooey cheese off the pizza crust and spearing it with his fork before shoving it in his mouth. Another distraction from the thought of bashing Erik's head into a wall.

Logan grunted noncommittally and rolled up his latest piece to eat it like a wrap, merely grinning at Erik when the latter gave him a look, appalled at Logan's table manners.

Cecilia sighed. "Why don't you all just punch each other and have a few beers? You know, solve your problems like men instead of being passive aggressive."

Charles coughed, having choked on his water, and cleared his throat. "Um-"

"Our day was fine. The girl at the ice cream parlor made fun of Hank again like she does every time he goes, and he got this stupid smile on his face and looked like Rudolph when Clarice tells him he's cute."

Hank turned bright red as he stared in horror at Cecilia, while Logan and Charles both laughed, Erik even managing a chuckle.

"Are you making friends, Hank?"

"No," Hank mumbled, refusing to meet Charles's eyes as he took off his glasses and cleaned the already sparkling lenses with the edges of his napkin. A nervous habit, clearly. Though it didn't really help him not to see their faces, since he was farsighted and needed his glasses to see close work.

Charles patted his arm comfortingly. "What flavor today?"

"Chunky Monkey."

"Oh, that's a good one. How exactly do you pick which flavors to go through?"

"I planned it out over the weeks. Every week is a new flavor, and I got to the last one this week… so now I have to start over next Monday and go through the flavors for thirty one weeks again."

"'m surprised you don't weigh a hundred pounds with all the ice cream you've been eating, Beast."

"Shut up," Hank told Logan roughly, spearing another wad of cheese with his fork.

"Hank… you do realize you're not really cutting calories by not eating the crust. The cheese alone is-"

"Can everyone please stop giving me advice on women and weight and ice cream? Please?"

They all laughed again, Hank sighing and tiredly putting his head in his hands.


	8. Phoenix

_This chapter is rather short, but I felt it says everything I needed it to say, without it being longer. You all better hope and pray Erik sticks around instead of leaving. With all the angst I write, some of my usual readers will probably be afraid Erik will, in fact, leave. You should be afraid. And is "indignancy" really a word? It is now.  
_

* * *

_All I am is a man.  
I want the world in my hands.  
_– _The Neighbourhood_

"So you… what, want me to take care of her?"

"Yes," Erik answered, moving his rook and capturing Charles's knight. "Preferably."

"No."

Erik lifted his head, brow furrowing. "No?"

Charles shook his head sharply. "Not unless you stay here. I'm not raising your daughter while you go back and forth between here and terrorism."

"Charles," Erik growled lowly.

"You're only defensive because you know I'm right."

Erik glowered at him, but Charles rolled his eyes in response, uncaring if it was petulant. He'd had enough, and let Francis and Onslaught combine forces to be him. He, Charles, who was sick of Erik's bullshit and wouldn't allow the man to hurt the tiny girl he was currently so protective of, by only being around part of the time as she grew up.

He wouldn't enable the man to be half a father. Either Erik would raise his daughter properly, or not at all. Charles couldn't bear to see Lorna's heart broken because her father was hardly good for anything and wouldn't stick around, not even for her. Especially not after Erik had done that to Peter already. No child should have to feel the pain of their parents not loving them. Charles shuddered a slight bit, letting out a slow breath as he remembered his mother. Sharon, who had chosen to give all her affection to a bottle of vodka rather than pay any attention to her grieving six year old who'd lost his father only a week before. Who, rather than help her child understand what was wrong with his head, had sent him off to a sanitarium, which was only a slight step up from an insane asylum. Raven had gone with him, she only nine and him ten. Sharon hadn't even bothered to remember he existed when he graduated high school, at the top of his class and only sixteen years old, and had simply gone off to live with her parents in England again.

No, Lorna would not feel that aching pain Charles had never gotten rid of after all these years. She would only know love from her father, if Charles had anything to say about it. She'd be abandoned over his dead body.

"Erik," he began, pausing to sip at his tea. Siberian ginseng, used to regulate stress and increase mental and physical prowess. He'd chosen it specifically because talking to Erik was taxing, and he wanted to be as healthy as he could be for the conversation.

Swallowing and taking a deep breath, he started again. "My mother never showed me any sort of love, even before my father's death. Do you want your daughter to suffer an identity crisis, or feel unloved enough to go to random men for affection and pleasure because her father never set a proper example for her or stayed to care about and raise her?"

Erik looked away, taking a drink of scotch. "No." He raised his head and sighed. "Charles, our people need me."

"At the moment? No, they don't. Your daughter, on the other hand, needs you for the next twenty years, at least."

Erik's face changed, the conflict becoming unbearable as he tried to slow his heart rate with deep breathing. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to raise your daughter properly and not abandon her to strangers because you've got into your head to go off terrorizing innocent people on behalf of mutants who right now would love to just live in quiet existence. Our kind is content, Erik. We all want to just sit on our asses and live our lives, not fight back against 'The Man' or dispose of humans. You're the only one who feels the need to go crusading."

Erik glared at the chessboard, the anger and indignancy rolling off him in waves that were almost visible to Charles's eyes. He could certainly feel them strong enough.

"Lorna needs you. Would you like her to be an orphan as you are? Either you stay and raise her, and I help you with it… or you leave and never return, and I'll ensure Lorna never knows you existed or that you abandoned her." He didn't regret the words, not even when Erik visibly recoiled from him, outright shrinking back into his chair as his face twisted into a war between being outraged and curling in on himself to be miserable.

He took a drink of tea to calm the slight trembling in his body. He'd said his piece. He'd used his and Erik's personal feelings as leverage to make his argument. Now he had to lie in wait to see whether it had worked, and he was getting his way, what was best for the little girl Charles had suddenly grown so fiercely protective of.

Or if Erik had retreated so far back into himself again that he would leave before the night was out.

"I'll give you a week to make your decision." He paused, letting Erik process the words before he added, reaching out an olive branch. "Old friend."

He suspected Erik needed a great deal of time to be alone and think, so Charles grasped his teacup in one hand and turned his chair around with the other, rolling out of the study to go visit Hank in the lab.

* * *

Hank looked up from the fibrous membranes he'd been bent over for the past several minutes, smiling a little at Charles, who closed the door behind him before rolling further into the lab. "Hey."

"Hello, my friend. How are things going with all your projects?"

He shrugged. "They're going."

Charles smiled. "How about you take a break, yes?" He encouraged, grabbing a pair of goggles and putting them on over his eyes.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Our usual," he replied. "Got anything you'd like to burn away?"

Hank grinned and picked up a folder, which was labeled with the Sharpied words "Spinal Serum."

Charles held up the lighter he'd asked Logan if he could borrow, and felt a grin stretch across his face. He and Hank had decided long ago that that serum would never again see the light of day, and would never go to anyone else. He'd be glad to get rid of it.

It felt freeing to burn away the shackles of his old life. He pictured himself a phoenix as he watched the papers curl up before turning into charred ash and fall into the trash just as he let go of the corners on each of them, Hank setting the fire extinguisher helpfully on the innards of the trash can to make sure nothing caught flame once it fell in.

Burning away everything that had confined and chained him. The over-eager altruism that got him into horrible messes, which then lead him into selfish depression. He burned it all away, and let himself rise out of the smoking ashes. Willing to assist, but also cautious and wiser about who he trusted. Charles Xavier.


	9. Today

_My whole idea for Hank and Charles is that they're science buddies, and they get like little boys in the lab and pour acid on stuff, burn things, even make small explosions just because they can. Children, both of them. Thank you to time2read, Phoenixhp5t3, sirensbane, NotMarge, and mpathy for leaving reviews! I'm surprised how many people actually like the image of Erik with a baby, but then again, we all just want our favorite Master of Magnetism to be domestic and fluffy, don't we? I won't lie about Charles: Though he is showing a lot of progress over the past year, he's still struggling at times, but luckily he has people to catch him when he falls  
_

* * *

_Can't live for tomorrow,  
Tomorrow's much too long.  
_– _Smashing Pumpkins_

Erik paced restlessly in front of Charles's desk within the study, hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the floor and his feet moving almost in panicked motions. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, turn around to go back, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot.

Quite frankly, this routine should've gotten old after the first hour on the first day. But it was day three, and Erik was still at it. He stopped to eat and sleep, and occasionally sat down, but he always felt too tense and almost immediately leapt to his feet again.

Logan poked his head in, frowning at Erik as he watched him pace for a moment. "Baby needs feeding." Erik shoved him aside to move past before Logan blinked, and the man puffed on his cigar as he watched Erik practically tear up the stairs to where they'd set up a nursery for Lorna. "Jackass."

* * *

Charles had agreed to Erik's muttered request to continue their nightly chess games, though it brought back painful memories to them both, years ago, when things had been better. Twelve years ago… and God, Charles and Erik both felt ancient despite their still relatively young ages. Erik, however, had felt far too old since he was a young boy in the ghettos, stopped from threatening a Nazi soldier with a penknife only by his uncle.

Charles rubbed his head as he moved his king to the right, evading Erik's grasp once again and the symbolism was certainly not lost on him. "How's the mostly-deprivation from Lorna going?"

"I'd rather not discuss it," Erik replied, swallowing the last of his scotch and pouring more. Charles hadn't missed how Erik had gone through most of the bottle in the course of an hour, which gave him a slap-in-the-face of a clue that Erik wasn't doing well and missed Lorna terribly, already.

It had been an experiment Erik started, to see what it would be like if he never got to see Lorna. Outside of giving her a bottle when she needed it, he kept to himself in the house. Charles had suspected the man hadn't been well since he'd begun the willpower test, but the way Erik was drinking tonight, only on the fourth night since he'd given the man an ultimatum, definitely assured Charles that Erik was crumbling.

He took satisfaction in it, because it was better than the alternative of Erik abandoning Lorna. But, he reminded himself, Erik could still leave as a last ditch effort, so Charles remained guarded for the most part. Just in case.

"You'll be happy to know the others have fallen in love."

"Even Logan?"

Charles chuckled. "Especially him, strangely enough."

Erik finished off his glass in two swallows, making even Charles cringe. As he poured another glass, Charles sighed.

"Erik, perhaps slowing down will do your head some good in the morning?"

"I don't get hangovers," he muttered, moving a pawn toward Charles's king.

"You may not have gotten them before the Pentagon, but after a decade of imprisonment, you've gotten a little less resistant to things," Charles said, gesturing to the black eyes and the piece of medical tape across the bridge of Erik's nose, the injuries he'd sustained after Logan punched him in the face.

The older man sighed and leaned back in his chair, eyelids lowered as he only half looked at the board, his mind on other things.

Charles let him think in silence, flicking his king over just as Erik twitched his fingers to cause his own king to do as such. The men nodded once at each other to acknowledge the mutual surrender, and Erik left the study.

The telepath rolled his eyes when he realized where Erik had ended up. Brooding in the dark attic. What was he, Batman?

_I am the niiiighttt!_

_Onslaught, shut up._

_Oh, come on, you know you were thinking the same._

Charles let his forehead smack against his palm in exasperation.

* * *

"Did you sleep up here?" Hank asked incredulously, to which Erik shook his head.

"I decided to return here when I woke."

"Uh… sure," Hank muttered something unintelligible, before he looked back at the German man who was still busy angsting about his life and his daughter and whether or not he'd continue terrorizing people around the world who lacked cool super powers like lasers and flying. "Get downstairs, breakfast is almost ready."

"Who's making breakfast?"

"The cook. Charles had to hire her back when he realized we would starve to death during… Get downstairs," Hank reiterated, head disappearing as he climbed back down the attic ladder.

* * *

"Oh, so you decided to stop being Batman, I see," Cecilia greeted when Erik walked into the kitchen, passing Lorna off to him. "Your kid isn't the worst I've had to deal with, thankfully."

"What-" Erik started, but was interrupted by Cecilia informing him she'd given Lorna several immunizations. Erik's eye twitched at the thought of needles coming anywhere near his daughter, but Cecilia leveled him with an equally hateful glare.

"I'd prefer she not die from meningitis or smallpox because you were too moronic to have her immunized against such things. You're welcome."

Logan snickered from his place leaning against the fridge, puffing on a new cigar. That is, until Charles poked him with a fork. "Put that out or spend the rest of your days as a six year old girl."

The burly man chuckled and put out his cigar, seeming amused. He projected a memory out to Charles, causing the telepath to laugh as his older self, from the other future, telling Logan just as much and informing him he'd have this woman, Jean, braid Logan's hair.

"I could have Cecilia braid your hair this time around."

"Beginnin' to think you'll make good at that promise, Chuck."

Erik stood against a wall and gave Lorna a bottle, scowling at nothing and everything while he continued to brood.

* * *

By the sixth day, he still hadn't made his decision. And it was driving him up the walls, because he'd never been indecisive, even as a child. Things were always clear cut for him, no matter who got hurt in the process. Either he did this, or he did that. There was no trouble making a decision, and certainly no issue of morality and responsibility to be had.

But Lorna had changed everything, flipping his life end over end until it finally stopped the wrong side up. Striding over to the nightstand, he picked up the small gun he kept on hand. No time like now to practice his control over metal.

* * *

It soothed him, letting the metal drift around him, taking over his consciousness. Erik pressed the barrel of the gun to his palm, reaching out to feel the bullet in the chamber, lined up to fire the very second he pulled the trigger.

He did so, and felt the bullet stop dead, still within the barrel and hardly coming near the vulnerable skin it could have so easily pierced, flying through his flesh and coming out the back of his hand. And due to him sitting cross-legged on the floor, the bullet would have gone into his thigh and stopped there as a result of all the resistance lowering its velocity.

Sliding the bullet back into the chamber, he repeated the exercise, several bullets now lined up in the barrel, one after the other from him pulling the trigger in quick succession, but no bullet leaving the gun and hitting his palm.

Charles ventured down to the large metal room eventually, watching Erik in silence for a while before speaking up.

"Your control has certainly improved."

Erik didn't look at him as he stood and rolled his wrist to work the stiffness out of it. "I should hope so."

The telepath gestured at the room around them. "Like it? The boys and I designed it to be a room to practice their skills in combat."

Erik flicked his eyes around at the empty room. "How?"

He waved a hand, turning his chair around as Erik followed him. "There's a control panel up here, and an observation deck." The made their way up one storey, coming out in said observation deck, which was a room enclosed by walls and what Charles informed him was a viewing window made from plastic, so Sean couldn't have shattered it.

"See?" Charles pressed a few buttons and flipped a couple of switches, the control panel humming to life as more lights came on in both the observation deck and danger room itself. "Computer simulations. Took Hank so incredibly long to figure it out, but he did. Better technology than the rest of the world has. I'm sure everyone will figure out computers much better as time passes, but for now we're the only ones with this sort of thing." Charles patted the control panel.

"That's… impressive," Erik admitted, eyes traveling over the wide panel. "How often did you put the boys through hell with this?"

The younger man chuckled. "Often. I wanted them to be prepared, in case-" He broke off then, eyes darkening as he tore his gaze away from Erik down to his lap.

"Mystique," Erik started, "She… didn't get any details on Sean's death."

Charles squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders shuddering. "I'm not discussing this."

"Alright."

The fact Erik had let it go, rather than pushing Charles into talking off the boy he'd grown to love so dearly-his student, so young then-showed remarkable restraint on Erik's part, for which Charles was grateful. Perhaps someday he'd face the demons surrounding Sean. Today was not that day.

Erik rested a hand on Charles's shoulder, his grip strong and steady as they remained silent. Side by side, as they'd always longed to be. As they now knew they'd been in the former future, when they'd been hunted to extinction.

He opened his eyes when he remembered something, mentioned in passing since Erik had returned, and he looked down at Charles.

If he could see for himself that what his old friend said of their kind was true, then… perhaps he might…

He wouldn't make any promises to himself. Not until he knew for certain.


	10. Show Me

_You've likely noticed I have a huge appreciation for Hank. I can't help it, man, he's just so __**awkward**__. Plus him being vastly intelligent is great. It means I can just stare and drool while he waxes poetic about Robert Louis Stevenson or Schrödinger's cat. Anyhow, I can assure you, Peter, Alex, Ink, Toad, Spyke, and Raven will be showing up in due time. Also a bonus guy. Cookies to you if you guess who it is by this clue: "Bamf."_

_Thank you to PuraStones, NotMarge, and mpathy for leaving reviews! I can't resist mentioning parts from the future Logan remembers. It gives Charles some tension relief. And yes, I love Smashing Pumpkins! And if Erik took up knitting, you know he'd be knitting voodoo dolls of Logan and Alex to stick pins in them, and then he'd knit himself a new helmet. "Erik, for God's sake-" "NO, CHARLES. THIS IS MY HELMET NOW." "You're such a child." Oh, and mpathy, I can promise there **will be** moments with Charles and Lorna.  
_

* * *

_Am I wrong for thinking out the box from where I stay?  
Am I wrong for saying that I choose another way?  
_– _Nico & Vinz_

Charles sent out a telepathic call for the others to not disturb him while he was in Cerebro, then beckoned for Erik to follow him. Down the metallic halls so out of place considering the decor of the house above ground, stopping at the end of a long hallway. Charles let the light beams form a blue X across his face, the unfamiliar yet comforting words of "Welcome, Professor" emitting from Cerebro's door in an electronic voice. He pushed the joystick forward to roll along the catwalk, Erik silently drifting along at his left, as the man always did when they'd been friends, once upon a time.

Looking around and taking it all in before he spoke up. "Hank is a genius."

"That he is." Charles stopped at the control panel and turned the correct dials, waiting for Cerebro to hum quietly in the background before he took the helmet in his hands. "Now, stay still. You can talk, just… don't agitate me, please."

"What will happen if I do?" Erik asked curiously.

"I might end up killing off every mutant but myself in a single blow."

Erik laughed nervously, knowing Charles was serious but not quite wanting to acknowledge the danger. "Oh."

Placing the helmet on his head, Charles closed his eyes, hearing Erik gasp from behind him as they both were plunged into a proverbial bucket of ice water. Emerging feeling much warmer despite the shock, Charles opened his eyes and felt Erik leaning forward, their gazes falling on the enormity of the world stretched before them.

"The white lights are humans. They're still in the majority, as you know." He blinked, concentrating and flipping a mental switch, many lights suddenly disappearing to leave only red lights behind. "And these… are all of us."

Erik sucked in a breath, eyes wide as he stared out at all the lights representing their kind, the red glow illumination the dome they stood in. "There are… even more than I thought."

Charles chuckled a bit. "Yes, there are." He sunk down lower, into the Middle East, and pointed. "There." Reaching into a mind, one after the other, he displayed a quick cursory glance at the mutants' memories to Erik before moving on to Africa, South America, Central America, the United States-lingering on Peter's mind so Erik could be sure his son was alright, if not shoplifting three cases of Hershey bars-Canada, and then moving on to Australia.

Very few mutants were experiencing strife, and Charles and Erik both choked when they encountered a mutant's life just flickering out as Charles encountered him. But it helped that Charles was able to look at the surrounding area and only sense a snake, who had bitten the man. Though it was morbid, they sighed in relief the man hadn't died as a result of any hate, merely mother nature.

Asia proved fine, rather tranquil for mutants where it was endlessly violent for humans, largely due to the turmoil in the Soviet Union. Erik sighed and rubbed his temple. "Communism had such potential in theory."

"People are too weak and stupid to execute it properly, you know this."

"I know. Wait- what's that?"

Charles looked to where Erik was pointing, and peered closer. "It's… Oh…" Charles trailed off, grimacing in tune with Erik as they both felt the boy's pain at having to wear a blindfold and no longer being allowed to go to school.

"Alex… has a brother, apparently."

"Where is he?" Erik demanded.

"Sh," Charles urged Erik to be silent, pulling back once he had Scott's location. "Indiana, where Alex grew up. Erik, wait a moment."

Erik impatiently stood, arms crossed as Charles let his mind slowly sink back into itself and away from everyone else's. Once he felt he wouldn't be too dizzy, he removed the helmet and turned off Cerebro, taking deep breaths to steady himself.

"I'm coming with you to fetch Scott. I…" He smiled. "I think it's time I started filing paperwork to reopen the school, but for now, I've got a business card to offer Scott's parents."

Erik nearly snarled in anger. "They don't deserve the courtesy! Not after how they've-"

"Erik, shut _up_."

He shut his mouth, a little surprised at Charles's tone.

"Do you know how to fly a plane?"

Erik shook his head.

"Then Hank will have to skip his visit to the ice cream parlor this weekend." He put his fingers to his temple, poking around for Hank and catching his attention. _My friend, could I borrow you for a few hours? I need to recruit a new student._

_Uh… sure?_ Hank was floored at the thought Charles had used Cerebro to recruit new students, let alone actually go through with it and fetch said student. But he didn't question it further, and hurried off to get the plane ready.

"Where exactly do you keep that jet of yours?"

Charles smiled mischievously. "You'll see."

* * *

He did see indeed. After being absolutely sure Cecilia wasn't about to stick his daughter with more needles, and being sure Logan really was a suitable bodyguard for the tiny girl, he kissed Lorna's forehead and bid her a temporary farewell.

He hadn't forgotten the fact that today was the last day to make a decision, but he put it off because for now, a mutant needed his help… an innocent boy, as Erik had once been.

But as far as the jet went… well, he hadn't expected the hangar built underneath the basketball court around the manor. But he also hadn't expected the basketball court to exist either, so Erik had made peace with the fact that he regretted missing the building of Charles's secret base and his school for their kind. As he climbed into the jet after he and Hank helped Charles inside-much to the telepath's chagrin-he sighed. This was the plane he'd nearly crashed, where he and Charles had fought and shouted at one another. Where he'd confessed he wasn't Kennedy's murderer.

And he wasn't. That fact hadn't changed and had always been true-he didn't kill the president. He never wanted to.

But he knew someone who'd thirsted for Kennedy's blood. And that someone was not Emma Frost, not as Charles suspected.

Humming under his breath, Erik sat down in one chair, Charles's "travel wheelchair" folded up in a corner for the time being as the younger man sat in the same plush chair he'd occupied during their flight to Paris. A chess set sat between them on the table, though neither man felt up to playing at the moment.

Hank, thankfully, seemed content to fly with the headphones over his ears, monitoring traffic towers and the plane's systems, and stubbornly ignoring anything Charles and Erik might say aloud.

Charles smiled a bit. "Hank has admitted to being tired of hearing us argue like an old married couple."

Erik snorted. "Can't blame him. I'm rather sick of it myself." The words slipped out before he could stifle them, though he realized after he'd said them that he didn't regret letting Charles hear that part of his mind.

"Oh?" The telepath raised an eyebrow.

He nodded. "Yes."

Charles hummed a little. "Do you think…" He shook his head. No. Not now. Not after he'd been completely dry for a year now. He'd been doing so well. He couldn't drink even a drop again, not in his life.

Erik's eyes followed Charles's gaze to the scotch bottle, sighing. "You don't really want this, do you?"

Charles shook his head in confirmation, looking out the window to get his sight off the evil, tantalizing bottle. "I've been sober too long. I don't want to… to lose all the progress I've made by taking one sip."

The metal bender stood, grabbing the bottle and disappearing into the back of the plane, emerging with a bottle of water for Charles and the scotch nowhere in sight.

He cast Erik a grateful look and thanked him for the water, taking a long drink. "Much better, thank you." Charles cleared his throat and leaned forward to examine the chessboard in front of them. "Shall we start?"

"Be my guest."

* * *

Charles had fallen asleep in the midst of their game, lulled to sleep apparently by the movement of the plane. Erik looked over his friend, his face more relaxed in unconsciousness, and picked up one of the pillows off the couch. He carefully slipped it between Charles's head and the wall of the plane, then made his way to the cockpit. He may be a creature of solitude by nature, but…

After ten years in prison where the only physical and verbal contact he received was negative, he always desired some sort of company these days. Lorna was rather nice company, though admittedly he grew a little bored since he couldn't hold an actual conversation with his daughter, much as he loved her. Charles wasn't bad company either, though they both still harbored ill will for one another so that dampened it somewhat. Cecilia he was still unfamiliar with, though if he stayed, he knew he'd become better acquainted other than her chewing him out for leaving Charles and getting himself thrown in jail over "asinine, ludicrous shit." Logan… he and Logan had a mutual hate for each other, which suited them both just fine.

That left Hank, and things were almost as complicated with Hank as they were with Charles. However, it was better than Alex, who Erik knew would've attacked him instantly and at every opportunity had he been there. Hank, however, could be admired for his control and intelligence. The approach he took to everything, how he often times appeared as a pessimist due to his logical nature. The maturity he carried in himself even if he was outwardly socially inept and still rather quiet and shy after everything he'd been put through.

Erik had always liked Hank best of their original "first class," he had to admit. Aside from Charles and Mystique, of course. But after them, if he had to choose, he'd pick Hank.

Which was why he took a leap of faith and sat in the copilot's seat, receiving a half-incredulous, half-aggravated look from the younger man. Hank shook his head and turned his eyes back to the control panel and the sky beyond the plane. After a few moments, he pulled off his headphones and sighed. "In truth, I only keep those on so I don't have to listen to everyone else."

"I suspected as much."

Hank sighed again. "What do you want?"

"At the moment, or as a whole?"

Hank grimaced. "Let's start off easy and say at this moment."

Erik tried his best to look nonchalant about the fact that he craved companionship after his stint in prison. "Company."

"Excuse me?" When Erik didn't say anything otherwise, Hank blinked. "Er… why?"

"Are you a fan of psychology?"

"This is about the effects of solitary confinement on a person, isn't it."

It wasn't a question, because they both knew it was.

Hank muttered to himself before raising his voice for Erik to hear. "I talked to Alex about it somewhat. He was already… affected even after only a few months. I cannot begin to comprehend how poor your mental state is after a decade of solitary." Hank let out a breath. "I suppose I harbor sympathy for you, despite your many shortcomings."

Hank had always been practical. Barely able to stand him due to what he'd done, yet willing to accept the fact that, yes, Erik was feeling rather lonely and it made him uncomfortable to feel so weak.

"Have you ever read _The Once and Future King_?"

Hank gave him a bemused look. "You mean the sole reading material of Charles's book club?" He chuckled a little. "It's all he seems to read. I toyed with the idea of reading it, yes, but I never did pick it up."

"I recommend it… highly."

"I'm sure you do." Hank muttered something again. "It's… as though you and Charles are meant to be friends, despite all your half witted tendencies. You enjoy all the same things, you both are mutants with, as of now, the highest measured powers around the world. You both know what the other is thinking at any given moment, and you just…" Hank growled a little. "You both make me want to destroy something in frustration. Or eat my weight in ice cream. Whether one is more likely to happen than the other is as of yet undecided. Results have been inconclusive."

Erik let himself smile and chuckle at Hank's inner conflict over his former mentors, one of which had become his friend, the other which had become a partial enemy. "I suppose I'll be throttled if I dare to question you about this mystery girl at the Baskin Robbins?"

Hank let one hand remove itself from gripping the wheel to smack against his forehead. "Why does everyone _care_ what I do in my spare time?"

"Because your track record with women, as I'm loathe to point out, is less than sparkling."

Hank glared fiercely at him. "Does everyone find my love life so fascinating?"

"Only the people who have known you for more than a week."

"Great," Hank said sarcastically, clearly hurt. Erik tried to backtrack, not having wanted to hurt the younger man.

"Though I have heard from Charles that you've gathered your wits and begun firing back at this girl when she says something to you."

Hank shrugged. "I grew weary of being mocked, so I figured… if I can't laugh at myself, then I might as well end it. So I let myself be a little snarky."

Erik snorted. "Charles giving you lessons?"

"And Cecilia."

They sat in a slightly more comfortable silence for several minutes before Erik asked another question. "So… what's her name?"

"Marion Satou."

"I suppose you simply read that from her nametag."

"Yes, but I learned her last name by talking to her."

"Did you now? Impressive, McCoy."

Hank let himself feel satisfaction, and tried to also convince himself Erik's opinion didn't matter. On the other hand… it made him feel all warm and fuzzy-Beast grumbled at that-to know at least _someone_ thought it impressive he'd managed to be around a girl long enough to get her last name and then have the balls to snark back at her.

Even if he still hadn't gotten up the courage to ask her what her favorite flavor was.


	11. Beam Me Up, Scottie

_So admittedly, while I think James Marsden is hot and loved him as Scott, I hated Scott's character in the movies. I thought he was a whiny tool. Then again, I hated Jean too whilst adoring Famke Janssen. Anyway, I'm changing Scott's character dramatically in this fic because I want him to be a nice guy who puts on his big girl panties and doesn't try to compare the size of his dick to Logan's. You know. Good guy Cyclops._

_Thank you to Phoenixhpt5t3, sirensbane, mpathy, and NotMarge for dropping me your always lovely reviews! NotMarge, if I could, I'd make voodoo dolls of all the X-Men. Marion's favorite flavor is orange sherbet, fyi. Glad I could amuse all of you by pointing out Charles and Erik are basically an old married couple with all their bickering. Thank you guys for giving me an ego boost over the Hank portrayal. I admit to being continuously inspired by NotMarge._

* * *

_My wounds are nicely salted, dear.  
I never got to thank you right.  
_– _Snow Patrol_

Erik and Charles approached the house quietly, the latter frowning and becoming irritated when he found Scott was the only one home.

What kind of parents could leave their child alone when there were so many people in the world who despised mutants and would willingly kidnap a boy to murder him?

Erik shared a disgusted look with Charles and unlocked the front door once he levitated Charles's chair up onto the porch, moving it with his mind over the threshold. Charles wheeled himself along, the effort more taxing than he remembered as he glanced around at the house. Not one picture of Alex or Scott, though there was a boy who grew into a man, a brunette. However, Charles and Erik, to their credit, froze when they saw, on a table in the foyer, an American flag folded into a triangle and put in a frame, just above it hanging a picture of the brunette man who didn't look much older than Alex. He was smiling in a freshly crisp military uniform, medals attached to his right breast. Below it was a plaque, the words engraved in it reading "In memory of Gabriel Summers. We'll always remember you. Love Mom, Dad, Alex, and Scott."

Charles looked away, thinking of Sean and Alex and Hank suddenly, and then as he blinked back the building tears, his thoughts flitted to Scott, who sat glumly in his room, throwing a tennis ball blindly at the wall and letting it ricochet perfectly so it bounced back within Scott's grasp.

That explained the muffled thumping noise every couple of seconds. Charles lead the way back to the bedroom, Charles stopping Erik before they opened the door and reaching out carefully to Scott's mind.

_What… what's… _Scott's mind struggled to process what was happening, hearing a voice in his head. _There really is something wrong with me…_

Charles audibly hissed at the boy's pain. _There is nothing wrong with you, Scott. Your ability… your brother, Alex, has a similar one. I have the ability to read and talk to other people's minds. My friend, Erik, can move metal without touching it._

_This is nuts._

Charles let his chuckle drift to Scott's head. _We're mutants, just as you are. There is nothing wrong with you, I promise. In fact, I have a school for people just like us. There's a scientist there, who is very nice and very good at inventing things, who I'm sure can come up with some goggles or something so you can see the world again._

_Woah… either I've completely lost it, or this is the best day of my life… wait… he knows Alex?_

_Yes, I do. Alex is a former student of mine, and now a close friend. Would you… _Charles thought for a moment, mulling it over. _Would you like to see him again?_

_Yeah, I would. I miss him._

_Well, as disturbing as it sounds to do so, you can come with me and I'll find him for you. He was shipped to Vietnam, though I know for a fact he's alive and well._

_Oh, right, 'cause the guy can read minds. Makes sense he probably knows where Alex is._

_Try not to be alarmed. I'm… er, in the hallway._

The tennis ball thumping ceased, and Charles felt Scott pick up a stick-looked as though it was from the tree outside-and use it to fumble along until he reached the door. Then, a small boy's voice came from within, muffled by the door. "You gotta unlock it from the outside."

Erik glowered as he flicked his wrist, the several locks on the outside of Scott's door dismantling entirely and the door swinging open for Scott to come through. The boy's eyes were still blindfolded, and the stick was in his hand as he swung his head around.

"Am I crazy, or is there actually someone here that was talking in my head?"

"You aren't insane, Scott," Charles assured soothingly, reaching out a hand and giving Scott a nudge in his mind to find where Charles's hand was, to prove he was physically there. "Hello, there."

"Hi," Scott said, grasping Charles's hand tentatively before suddenly rushing forward, wrapping his arms around Charles's neck in a tight hug. Charles coughed a little, but patted the boy's back. "I don't have to stay here anymore?"

"Not at all. Admittedly my school is a little small right now, but there's Erik, Hank, Cecilia, Logan, myself, and Lorna. We're all mutants who can do various things. You don't have to be afraid of your powers."

Scott managed a small smile. "Okay… wait… can I pack some stuff first?"

"Of course. Here," Charles guided Scott's hand to reach out to Erik's. "This is Erik."

"The guy who can… move metal and stuff?"

"The one and only," Erik said, voice surprisingly soft.

"Groovy." Scott twitched. "Can you help me pack? I kinda can't tell where stuff is."

"Of course," Erik replied, following Scott into the room and stopping when he saw the window. The locks were on it, and had been painted and glued permanently shut, along with the window's edges. There was no escape for Scott until they'd come along, and Erik wanted to wait until Scott's parents returned, even if it took weeks, and then end their lives the moment they stepped through the door.

And, if they didn't return, he'd hunt them down. No one, no _child_, deserved to be scorned and locked away by the people who were supposed to love and take care of him. He looked down when Scott tugged on his pant leg.

"Hey, are we gonna pack?"

"Yes, we are," Erik assured him, going to Scott's closet and finding a duffel and a backpack. He laid them on the bed and told Scott where they were, opening the boy's dresser and beginning to pull out clothes. He handed them off to the small boy and let Scott have some sort of independence by shoving the clothes in the bags himself.

"So, Scott," Charles began as he wheeled into the room a little, after struggling with getting through the doorway and leaving scratches there. "How long ago did the… did your powers start?"

"Well… uh… I don't know. Can't really read a calendar anymore."

"It's not that important, I merely thought it couldn't hurt to ask."

Scott shrugged. "Do you have books at school?"

"A library full of them."

Scott whirled around, mouth open in shock. "Seriously? You have a whole library?"

"Indeed. You can read as many books as you like."

Scott wrinkled his nose a little. "I don't gotta learn Braille and stuff, do I?"

"Not unless you want to, not at all."

"Oh, okay, good." Scott swung his head around, fumbling on his bed and finally diving his hand under his pillow to pull out a small photograph. "This is me and Alex," Scott said, holding up the photo for Charles and Erik to see. Alex was a little younger, but it was unmistakably him, smiling casually as Scott grinned childishly. "There's all the pictures of him and me and stuff that I saved. 'Cause my parents were gonna burn 'em after Alex got arrested and all. And then when I started shooting lasers and stuff out of my eyes, they wanted to burn the ones of me next. So I saved the pictures."

Charles and Erik exchanged another disgusted look. "What did your parents say?"

"They locked me in my room."

"Well, the good news is at the school, you won't at all have to be in a room. You can walk around whenever you like."

"Even in the middle of the night?"

"Sure, if you'd like to. Just try not to make a commotion."

Scott smiled. "I won't, I swear."

Erik shoved the last of Scott's clothes in his bag and started picking up the toys and books. "Do you want to take all of these?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind," Scott said shyly. "It's all I got left 'cause Mom and Dad burned my other stuff."

"Why didn't they sell it?" Erik inquired, bracing himself for the answer he knew was coming.

"'Cause they didn't want anyone catching whatever was wrong with me. Mutant germs or something."

Erik barely restrained himself from twisting all the metal in the house, stuffing the rest of Scott's things in the bags and zipping them up. "Come on, we're going back to the school. You never have to return here."

"Sweet," Scott replied happily, fumbling for his stick. Charles grabbed his hand instead and told Scott to grab onto the back of his chair for the time being. The boy obediently did so, following the two men outside. Scott stopped, however, and let go of the chair. "Wait, can I… wait one sec." Scott turned around and fumbled back inside, crashing coming from the foyer before he emerged triumphantly holding the picture of Gabriel Summers. "Okay, we can go now." Erik helped Scott and Charles into the car, Scott sitting quietly in the backseat. The two men turned on the radio for the boy's benefit as Hank drove them along the roads back to the airfield.

"We're at an airfield," Charles informed Scott when they exited the car.

"No way!"

"Way," Hank replied, coming up to stand alongside the brother of one of his closest and oldest friends. "I fly the plane myself."

"Dude, that's so _boss_!"

Hank chuckled, Scott's language reminding him fondly of Alex. "Come on, I'll give you a tour." They helped Charles into the plane, and then Hank set about the task of showing Scott around, letting him lightly brush his fingers over the control panel and the furniture in the passenger area of the plane. Admittedly, Scott's head kept swinging back around to the cockpit, and Hank let him buckle into the copilot's seat so long as he promised not to touch anything.

With Hank and Scott's ears occupied with air traffic control, Charles and Erik were free to talk quietly in the middle of the plane, which unfortunately for Erik, meant he had to give his decision.

After Cerebro… Erik could honestly say that he might have better luck helping his people if he had Charles, and through him, access to Cerebro, where he could find out at any given moment which of their kind needed help and where that person was in the world.

Then there was Lorna to think about, and now… now Scott, apparently. He'd already somehow developed a soft spot for the boy, though he'd only known him for a few hours.

Hank, as well, though the younger man held dislike for him. Cecilia seemed to grudgingly accept him. Logan didn't like him, but… it was something akin to a cat's relationship with a human. Erik hated Logan and Logan hated him, but they both seemed to enjoy the mutual hatred and find comfort in it.

At last, there was Charles. The telepath who had thrown Erik into an entirely new existence, something so much greater than himself, and opened his eyes to the fact that not only was he not alone, but their species needed himself and Charles as guides.

Charles, who had suffered as a result of Erik's rash actions in the past, what he still believed had been the right thing at the time even though he severely, every day, regretted Charles had been caught in the line of fire.

He knew his decision. Had known it all along, really. For twelve years he'd known the decision he'd eventually make, no matter how often he stumbled and turned away over the years.

"I have chosen to remain at your side."

* * *

He rushed inside once Charles and Scott were out of the plane, hurrying up to the third floor where Lorna's nursery was. He slowed his pace only because he knew his daughter was asleep, and he had no desire to wake her, but he still hastily opened the door to her room. Approaching her crib, which had been Charles's when he was a boy, Erik leaned his arm on the edge of it and gazed down at the sleeping infant. Lying on her stomach, head turned to the side and curled up in quiet slumber, a single stuffed elephant lying in the far corner, nearest Lorna's feet. She was angelic, eyelashes long and curly while her hair was thick and dark.

He had dreams for her. Lofty ones, but he had hope they'd come true. Her intelligence would far surpass her peers, and she'd grow to be even smarter than he was. Lorna's knowledge of the world would be vast, and her wisdom would be astounding. She'd learn to think critically about everything, willing to reconsider her opinions on various subjects. Perhaps she'd become lawyer, winning cases for those who weren't in power. Or a researcher, curing cancer and hepatitis and any other disease that might crop up. She'd advocate her for treatments and vaccines to be free for all people, and she'd get her way because she'd be stubborn, as Erik was.

Maybe Lorna would turn out to be a doctor, directly healing the injured and sick by any means possible. Erik toyed with the thought that his daughter's power would be to heal, and smiled at the thought. Perhaps… perhaps when she was older, and she turned out to be a healer, she could… she could help Charles walk again, and he would still be able to use his own powers.

Erik gazed lovingly at his daughter, thinking over all the possibilities. She wouldn't need to be in a relationship, wouldn't make the mistake he had in that department. He didn't regret Peter and Lorna, because he couldn't possibly consider his children, his own flesh and blood, to be accidents. No, but… he regretted their mothers. Regretted the mistakes he'd made in quick succession over the years. He should've known he could never have a proper, loving relationship with anyone. He shouldn't have been such a foolish boy. Both women had been enormous accidents in his life. He only wished Peter hadn't been hurt as a result. Erik was determined not to hurt Lorna this time around.


	12. Florence Nightingale Effect

_So I would like to say this about the chapter, as a warning. I'm not "shipping" Charles/Hank. I merely think that some unhealthy feelings might have developed by accident because that tends to happen when people are in crappy situations. This chapter is actually one of my favorites.  
_

_D'awww, you guys are all too nice to me with your reviews. Glad everyone likes my Scott better. Good news is now he'll grow up to be James Marsden and still be good guy Cyclops. *thumbs up* Plus, I felt showing Scott looking up to Charles as a kid would explain his loyalty later on. Don't worry, Charles and Erik will become friends again in time. After all the damage they've done, it will be a while. I put special emphasis on Erik not focusing on Lorna being beautiful and marrying off. I wanted him to be practical and want his daughter to be vastly intelligent and successful. Also, guys, if you haven't, go read NotMarge's fics. I'm serious._

* * *

_Go alone my flower  
And keep my whole lovely you  
– Alt-j_

To Charles's credit, he didn't gloat over the fact Erik had stayed. Merely grew more attached to Lorna, which gave Erik pause. Likely, the telepath had been withholding affection for the girl out of… not spite for Erik, but… perhaps pain?

It was all moot now. Or, as Scott had tried to insist, a "moo" point, since it was a cow's opinion and didn't matter. Erik allowed himself a small chuckle at the thought of the boy. Scott had already settled in nicely, and Hank was busily tinkering away at all hours trying to create a pair of glasses or goggles for Scott to wear over his eyes, that would diminish his optic blasts and make him able to see again. There were certainly benefits to having an engineer around to make all kinds of gadgets that would work for mutants, seeing how there were no such things being manufactured outside the school.

Though, Erik had to wonder about the younger man, as he hadn't once seen Hank in the form of "Beast" since Washington. He suspected Hank wasn't as comfortable in his more feral form as he'd claimed. Erik was a bit lost, however, on how to go about encouraging the scientist. After all, Hank was rather… he was logical, yes, but that didn't mean he wouldn't bite Erik's head off if he suspected anything going on.

His aim was not to recruit Hank to "his side" or anything of the sort. Merely urge Hank to accept himself for who he was and cease the hiding.

"Erik, stop with the incessant worrying over Hank, please."

Erik shot a look at the man next to him, sighing. "Why are you in my head?"

"I have a right to monitor you considering your less than spotless track record."

Shaking his head, Erik looked out to his right, far beyond the grounds to the satellite dish. It was still turned to face the mansion, because he suspected the humans had never gotten around to fixing it in all these years. Charles stopped and followed Erik's gaze, sighing. "Little use for that now. You have vast control of your abilities, and… it isn't as though we have any flying mutants around."

They both turned away at the implied mention of the howling boy, continuing down the paths around the mansion. "How's your head?"

Charles shrugged. "Good days and bad days."

Yesterday had been a bad day. Charles shut himself in his room and even stuffed a couple shirts along the bottom of the door to muffle any sounds from within, but they'd all still heard the screaming. Scott had been frightened, asking if the Professor was alright, and they'd spent a long while reassuring him Charles was going to be fine, he just wasn't feeling well at the time. Hank had disappeared into Charles's room, and emerged after about an hour to take Charles outside to sit in the pouring rain. They'd come back inside soaked to the bone, but Charles had seemed better and more in touch with the world around him, which they considered progress. He'd shivered under a blanket in pajamas and a sweater-of course, always a sweater or a cardigan-while sipping freshly brewed tea by the fire. Hank sat dutifully beside him, a watchdog, and flashed Erik a protective look when he'd walked into the room to check on the telepath's condition.

Due to Charles's less than sunny attitude about life for so many years, and Hank being the only one around to take care of him, Erik had to wonder. Why did Hank hold such intense loyalty for the telepath? Logan and Cecilia were protective, to be sure, but Hank's ran far deeper. He knew he'd need to grill Charles on the details eventually, but for now he figured not to press his luck. Later, he would, but not so soon.

* * *

Around two that afternoon, a knocking began on the front door. It started off slow, but it almost immediately grew rapid, as though the door was being pelted with bullets. Erik, Cecilia, and Logan were sent forward, since between the three of them, bullets would be no match.

Unfortunately for Erik, they only found a silver-haired seventeen year old who grinned and started chattering away about coming to stay at the school because his mom needed a break.

Erik maintained his flat, annoyed look through the rest of the afternoon, and by dinner it hadn't moved an inch from his face.

Not even after Logan had smacked Peter with a frying pan, put him in a headlock, and held him down for Hank to slap a strip of duct tape over the boy's mouth. Peter had thought it amusing and hadn't taken it off, and that of course only got rid of the mile-a-minute chattering. It didn't eliminate the non stop movement and aggravating kleptomania.

Thankfully, by dinner everyone, even Scott, seemed to share Erik's flat look. They'd had to take the duct tape off so Peter could eat with the rest of them, though unfortunately that meant he was talking again, and everyone else was close to getting nosebleeds.

Charles, apparently, really was having one. He sighed and excused himself, and the others watched him go with a jealous inward chorus of groans. Lucky. Got to leave while the rest of them had to suffer and listen to Peter Maximoff.

Scott pushed his plate toward the middle of the table, then let his head slip from his hands to drop with a bang on the table that rattled the silverware. Peter was unfazed, in fact decided to discuss that as his next topic, and Cecilia finally excused herself because she'd supposedly been paged at the hospital. Erik glowered at her as she left.

Mercifully, they finished eating quickly and were able to escape, Hank tugging Scott down the hall as fast as the boy's legs could keep up with Hank's long strides. Logan slapped another strip of duct tape over Peter's mouth and lit a cigar, puffing on it irritably. Erik was half tempted to ask him for one, but he decided scotch would be better.

Which lead him to Charles's study across the mansion. The younger man looked up when Erik stepped quietly into the room, then returned his eyes to whatever he was bent over on the desk. "I don't have time for chess tonight."

"Have I done something?"

"For once, no. I'm busy with paperwork." Charles sighed and rubbed his head, scribbling down a few figures and doing the math in his head. "Fuck me."

Erik walked around the desk to lean down and examine the papers himself. "What's all this?"

"Things I have to do to…" Charles swallowed and pushed the papers away, tossing down his pencil. He leaned back and rubbed his eyes. "I don't know why I'm bothering. I don't… I can't…"

Erik watched him carefully, finally deciding to say his piece. "You're afraid."

"People keep telling me that. I… I've tried moving past it, Erik, but I just…" He met the older man's eyes, and Erik became witness to Charles's inner turmoil. "What if the school is shut down by someone in the government? What if we're terrorized by an anti-mutant group? Defense won't be a problem, but the students won't feel safe anymore. What if… something else, like a draft, takes all my students and teachers again?" He buried his face in his hands, focusing on his breathing so he wouldn't have a meltdown.

He'd struggled over the past few months, but he thought he'd really been doing better. He wasn't near tears over every tiny thing. He was dressing like a human being and showering every day. He hadn't quite gathered up courage to shave his beard, but that was because he liked his beard, and… irrationally, he was still a little horrified at seeing his future self completely bald. But Charles had been doing so much better. Why couldn't he push past these fears surrounding his school? Why did he feel a tightening in his chest and begin panicking? Why did he feel so nauseated he wanted to throw up and cry?

He'd thought about crumbling and letting himself drink again. The only thing keeping him from it was the thought that, yes, he had been doing well. He just needed to find some other way to calm his anxiety about the school. Yes. That was it.

Just had to find something to calm him down. There were advancements in that sort of thing. Medication, prescriptions. Perhaps he could see a doctor about it. Or he could honor the memory of Sean and take up smoking weed.

He played chess with Erik that night, and the next morning, he asked Hank to take him into town. To a park, or something. Charles had used Cerebro in the middle of the night to find a boy, about Peter's age, who was more than willing to get hold of some pot for Charles. He convinced Hank to go to the ice cream parlor and visit the girl he'd developed a crush on, leaving Charles blissfully alone in the park to contact the young man and urge him in Charles's direction.

"Hey, man, you the guy?"

"Yes, I do believe I am."

"Woah, British. Groovy."

Charles let himself chuckle. "Here you are, as payment."

"Ah, thanks, man. You didn't need to pay me. Just spread the love and share that with someone, yeah? Help them feel the positive waves."

The telepath coughed a little. "I'll do that. Positive… waves."

"Yeahhhh, man. Peace out." The man, sporting such long hair-and Hank thought Charles's had been long-grinned and flashed Charles two fingers held up, in what Charles gathered was a sign of peace. If he turned his hand around, Charles might've been insulted. Luckily, they weren't in Scotland, and he wasn't being flipped off. The professor held up the two finger sign and smiled at the man, causing him to say another "groovy" before strolling off.

Who the hell was he supposed to share this with?

* * *

Peter. Peter was destined to be the one he shared it with. Peter smoked one roll up of weed, and it slowed him to normal speed, and Charles handed him another, which slowed him to the speed Charles comfortably sat at.

Man, this was some good shit.

"Man, you know, like…" Peter snickered a little. "You know how, like, Erik is kind of a dick?"

Charles laughed. "Yeah."

"Yeah he's like… my dad, apparently."

He laughed again, hysterically this time. "You've… you've gotta be kidding."

Peter giggled. "No way, man."

They sat still again, leaning against the wall in Charles's bedroom, sitting on the floor, and taking long drags from their respective rolls of marijuana. It should be noted Charles's thoughts weren't this put together or eloquent at the moment, merely a product of the writer.

"Hey," Charles said.

"What?"

"That. No, but," he shifted, continuing, "I've got something to tell you."

"Huh?"

"Well, uh… you know Hank?"

"Yeah, I know Hank."

"Yeah, I know him too." Charles blinked, taking a few minutes to remember what he'd been about to say. "So… Hank and I… kind of…" Charles gestured sleepily with his hands, giggling at the sight of them. _My hands are so huge… they can touch everything but themselves._

Then his hands did touch, and he blinked in surprise. _Oh, wait… they touched themselves._

"What'd you do, man?"

"Florence Nightingale effect. You know… you know that?"

"What… what's that?"

"It's like… where um…" Charles waved his hands again. "Where a nurse falls in love with a patient."

"Oh." Peter turned his head to look at Charles, blinking and saying after a long moment, "What does… what does that gotta do with… with um…" Peter gestured. "Hank, or whatever."

"Well… kinda it happened um… both ways, you know? Weird shit, man," Charles told him, currently fried brain barely able to recall all the memories from over the years. Hank had finally ended things, being mortified and, quite frankly, feeling unethical and a little as though he'd violated Charles. "Not as though we like… were Nancy boys or anything. Just two guys living alone in a house for years…" Charles laughed. "Stuff and experimentation is bound to happen or something."

"Woah. That's so... deep."

"That's what she said," Charles replied automatically, without stuttering.

Peter giggled. "You're… you're funny… or something."

"I know." Yawning, Charles shifted again. "Hey, you uh… you wanna get something to eat?"

"Like… cheetos? You got cheetos?"

"Hell yes, I have cheetos."

"Dude… you're awesome."

"I know."

* * *

Hank admitted he… hadn't quite thought through burning the rest of Charles's weed in the lab. He'd gotten as far as "someone needs to burn it or he'll smoke the rest" and then… well… he clearly hadn't thought past that.

He sat heavily down on the stool, but it fell over with a crash and Hank tumbled to the tile floor in the lab, where he blinked up at the hazy ceiling and giggled a little.

_Gosh… I had no idea… Tetrahydrocannabinol was this potent. Huh. Learn something new each day, I suppose._

On this hand, Hank's thoughts are always eloquent, no matter if under the influence. Helps to be a super genius, yes?

"Hank?" Erik's voice echoed in the otherwise quiet lab-except for that weird humming noise-and then the man was standing over Hank, upside down with his hands in his pockets.

_Oh… that's… that's freaking me out._ "Er… Erik, stop being upside down. It's creepy," Hank's voice rose a little, beginning to panic. "Erik, don't be upside down. Please."

Erik sighed a very long sigh and took a few steps to stand next to Hank's arm. "Better?"

Hank relaxed and nodded. "Indeed."

Erik seemed as though he was trying not to breathe much. "Let's get you out of here until the smoke clears." Erik sniffed the air just a touch and wrinkled his nose at the revolting smell. He looked over his shoulder at the windows all along the far wall, and flicked them open before grabbing Hank's arm. He wrapped one arm around the younger man's shoulders, Hank beginning to giggle a little, and hauled him to his feet.

"Hey, Erik?"

"What?"

"Due to your level of exposure to a large concentration of… of tetrahydrocannabinol in such a short time, I believe… you may… um…" Hank giggled. "Have what is known in Layman's terms as a 'contact high.' It should become apparent shortly."

"Wunderbar."

"Ja," Hank answered, bursting into a laughing fit.

* * *

Effects should become apparent shortly indeed. Erik rifled through the snack cabinet, grabbing the pretzels and growling. Someone had taken the cheetos. Narrowing his eyes, he ripped open the bag of pretzels and grabbed a few. He hated drugs. Prescription or illegal, he hated them all.

Huffing, Erik worked his way through the entire bag and crossed his arms, hoping by force of will that his craving for more snack food would leave his mind. It was all just an effect of the THC on his brain. Nothing more.

"Verdammt," he snapped, whirling around and grabbing the ingredients to make himself a grilled cheese sandwich. Quite honestly, Erik was ready to climb the walls in frustration. _I have more control than this._

Logan strolled into the kitchen, stopping and sniffing the air. "Blegh. You get into a brawl with a skunk or something, bub?"

"What?" Erik growled, glaring at him.

Logan suddenly barked a laugh. "Your pupils are huge. You get into that shit Chuck was smoking?"

Wait… _Charles_ had been smoking that?

Erik clenched his fists and let all other pans, cookie sheets, and pots fly from the cabinets and dart around in the air, crashing violently into things around the kitchen. "Damn him."

Logan laughed again. "So you didn't know, huh? Where'd you get your hit, then?"

"Hank decided to be a good samaritan and dispose of it by burning the whole bag." Erik scrubbed his face with his hand. "Obviously he didn't think through it."

"So you got him out of the lab and got a contact high, huh?" Logan dug through the cabinet. "Hey, what happened to the cheetos?"

"I took them, brave sir Logan!" A very English-accented voice bellowed from behind them. Erik didn't bother turning around, glaring at the microwave over the oven.

"Dammit, Chuck, you gotta ruin everything."

Charles laughed in reply.


	13. Back to School

_So how did you all like half the mansion getting high in one fell swoop? How do you defeat mutants in battle, exactly? Drugs, man.  
_

_Thank you to Autobot Firekat for adding this story to your favorites! Also thank you to my regulars, Phoenixhp5t3, NotMarge, PuraStones, sirensbane, and mpathy for leaving your always amazing feedback. Charles was smoking marijuana because he still isn't completely responsible, and it's supposed to make you not give a damn about anything (though it actually can cause paranoia and freak outs). Charles didn't know Peter was Erik's son because it's not really obvious to anyone but us, so until Peter told him, he had no idea. Erik does care about other people, it's just harder for him to express it in appropriate ways. He usually ends up punching his BFF in the face "because I CARE!" and dropping stadiums on people "BECAUSE I CARE!" instead of, y'know, taking somebody out for ice cream. Erik is strange, we all know this._

* * *

_The fix is in  
The odds that I got were delicious  
_– _Elbow_

"So, tell me _why_, exactly, you thought it a bright idea to smoke a joint?"

"It's called a joint?"

Erik sighed and moved his knight. "Yes, Charles."

"Oh… interesting tidbit… Anyway, it was a moment of weakness. Marijuana supposedly calms you down."

"Only in some people. I had to deal with my own paranoia on top of paranoia in four other people, so that was a joy."

"I said I was sorry."

"Mmhmm."

Charles huffed and moved a bishop out of the line of Erik's fire. "I've had to shelve the school for now."

"Because…?" Erik prompted.

"My anxiety flares up if I so much as think about it."

"Ah."

"... You're not going to offer any advice?"

"Oh, is that what you were after? I thought you merely wanted to complain and milk it for all it was worth over the next decade."

Charles glared at Erik. "Fuck off."

Erik took a drink of scotch, much more careful about it than he'd been the week before. "Why do you _need_ to open the school officially?"

Charles furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly that. The school started with a few teenagers who you molded into a semi-coherent team. We've recruited Scott, Cecilia, Logan, and Peter with no official school set up."

"Oh," Charles replied, looking at the board and his clasped hands. "I admit… I hadn't thought of it that way."

"You make things far more complicated than they need to be."

"Pot, kettle."

Erik chuckled. "Call me a hypocrite all you like-I've made peace with that quality in myself. My point remains, however."

Moving a rook, Charles looked up at the man. "I… suppose I could…"

"Besides the fact that any teenager enjoys going against their parents' wishes. If the school is unofficial, it makes them more likely to join."

Charles smiled. "This is very true." He sipped his tea for a moment, mulling it over. "I'll keep the paperwork shelved. Making it unofficial decreases the risk of any hate crimes."

Erik nodded. "Of course."

"You think of everything, don't you?"

"I enjoy thinking."

Charles gestured up at the ceiling. "There's a library upstairs, you know. You could read a little."

"I already have been. By the way, your copy of Frankenstein needs to be taped."

"I've been meaning to do that."

* * *

"When's everybody's birthdays?" Scott asked innocently at the breakfast table one morning, munching happily on frosted flakes.

"February 19th," Cecilia answered.

"Hell if I know," Logan said, stuffing his toast in his mouth.

"August 6th," Hank mumbled, taking a drink of coffee.

"November 17th," Charles replied gloomily.

"January 10th," Peter informed him, Scott barely catching the words.

Everyone looked expectantly at Erik, who looked up from the newspaper and stared at them. "What?"

"When's your birthday?"

"April 1st."

Logan snorted. "So you're an April Fool's joke?"

"Gone wrong," Erik answered, casting a look at Logan, who snorted again.

"Sounds about right."

"So what are everyone's plans for today?"

"I was just gonna sit in the lab with Hank."

"Does Hank mind you sitting in the lab with him?"

"I don't mind," Hank defended Scott. "He's quiet and doesn't touch things."

Charles chuckled. "Your dream friend, and the exact opposite of Alex. Speaking of," Charles added, "I planned to go into Cerebro today to find him. I apologize, Scott, I've been a little preoccupied."

"With smoking pot?"

Charles cringed at Scott's question, Peter laughing. "Er… yes, with that."

Erik sighed and flipped a page.

* * *

"You can come with me into Cerebro, you know."

"I had my doubts on permission."

Charles rolled his eyes. "When has that ever stopped you?"

"I like to give my allies the courtesy of boundaries."

The telepath snorted as he stopped at the console. "Doubtful, but I digress. Stay still." He placed the helmet on his head, letting himself get used to the shock of being connected to so many minds at once. He made what he now called "his rounds" and visited various people, humans and mutants, around the world. President Nixon, to ensure no support for anti-mutant policies was growing in his mind. Peter's mother and sister, who were fine. He could feel Erik's slight relief at that, and felt his heart soften just a little at what he sensed. Erik still had attachment to the woman, despite having left her so many years ago. He cared for her safety.

Cecilia's brother, Miguel, who had been home from Vietnam for some time but was still keeping active and in prime condition. Today he was jogging through Central Park. He heard Erik take a sharp breath when Charles hovered near Raven, subtly brushing her mind just to be sure she was alright. She was with someone, though he let her keep her privacy by not delving into her mind to find out who it was. She was safe, felt comfortable, and that was what mattered.

Then he drew back, closing his eyes and speedily sifting through mutant after mutant. No, no, no, no- oh for God's sake how long did it take to find the only other mutant who could shoot lasers from his body- Aha! There. There was Alex.

Alex was eating in a Pizza Hut with three other young men, in New York City. Charles examined them closer, noting they had served in Vietnam and had been threatened by the possibility of being sent to Trask Industries. Charles grew nauseated, clenching his fingers on the arms of his chair until his knuckles went white. Erik's nausea built as well, and they exchanged a look of empathy. Ink, Morty, and Spyke were their names. They and Alex had all bonded due to being mutants and having served in Vietnam. Spyke played the cello. Morty was always coating his food in cheese. Ink designed his own tattoos and had several across his body.

"Alex," he murmured, gently prodding at the man's mind. Alex straightened, blue eyes darting around. His friends glanced up to ask if he was alright, and he waved them off.

… _Professor? Charles?_

"It's me, old friend."

_Holy shit._

Charles chuckled. "I have some excellent news."

_Oh yeah?_

"Your brother, Scott, is currently at the school."

_You… you set it up again? Wait… did you give up drinking?_

"Yes, I'm quite different, I assure you. Scott apparently has a power similar to yours, though it's optical. Hank has been working on a pair of glasses Scott can wear to control it."

_Shit._

"Would you like to see him again?"

_You're in the same place, right?_

"The one and only Xavier's school."

_So I take a right on the highway, not a left._

Charles laughed. "Yes. Right into England, not left into New York."

Alex snorted. _I'll uh… I've got some guys with me. Can they come and… you know, stay for a while?_

"Of course. You're all welcome here." He paused. "Er, Alex… I think I should break the bad news now, before you get here."

… _Do I wanna know?_

"Ah… I'd prefer you make peace with it beforehand. Erik is here. He has decided to stay permanently, and we are working out our collective issues. He does have a daughter and she's staying here with us as well."

… _You gotta be fucking kidding me, Charles._

"I am not."

Alex debated for a long moment, finally sighing and groaning a little. _Fine, I won't kill him… yet. He better not fucking mess with Scott._

"Scott likes having him around, if that makes it any better."

_Barely. Can I at least punch him?_

"Everyone else, including me, has. You might as well."

_Fine. I'll… be there in a day or so._

"Excellent. I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

Erik glared at everyone when he arrived at the dinner table the next evening, Alex looking smug from his new seat between Scott and Hank. There had been a reunion between the two brothers earlier, and everyone had let them have some time alone. Afterward, Alex had gone straight to Charles and Hank for their reunion. Then he'd been introduced to Logan, Cecilia, Peter, and Lorna, before he introduced his three friends as well.

Then came Erik. Who Alex punched in the nose that was still recovering from where Logan punched it, thus renewing Erik's black eyes. The older man popped his own nose back in place and taped it again, spending the rest of the afternoon sulking in the attic.

Now he'd come down for dinner, and was still sulking as they ate pizza… for the fourth time that week. Their diet wasn't extremely healthy, though Cecilia had given up complaining and simply insisted that three nights a week they'd eat something _besides_ pizza. Usually that was either breakfast or Chinese or, as Logan tended to do for them, grilled steaks.

"Is Lorna alright? I heard her crying earlier," Charles asked, concerned about the infant.

"She has a fever. I believe she might've caught it from one of our blond house guests."

Alex took a bite of pizza and flipped him off.

"Did you give her any medicine? I believe we might have some tylenol somewhere…"

"Benadryl."

"Ah."

* * *

Charles sat behind his desk in the study, the three newcomers sitting in the three chairs laid out opposite. "So, boys, if you don't mind me asking, what are you mutations, exactly?"

Morty started. "Uh… I'm basically a human toad. Big eyes, long tongue… warts."

"Fascinating," Charles breathed, smiling curiously at him. "Spyke?"

Spyke gestured to the top of his head. "I can also make people collapse and have seizures."

"You both certainly are interesting additions. Makes our array of mutations even wider." He looked to the last boy. "Ink?"

"I make people sick." He held out his palm gingerly, showing the bio-hazard symbol. "Makes people throw up when I concentrate and hold out my hand." Ink made a nervous face. "I can do other stuff, but it's not that great."

"Regardless, I'd love to see your powers in action sometime." Charles smiled widely. "Admittedly, after so many years of living with my own power, I get bored and like to see others at work. I'm certainly glad to have you three here. We all are."

"Er… even Mr. Lehnsherr?"

"He seems creepy, but I assure you, he's not all bad. Just a little rough around the edges."

The three boys cast a nervous glance at the man, who'd been lurking in the corner the whole meeting. "... Sure. Thanks, Professor."

"You're welcome. Get some sleep, boys. Tomorrow, we test out your powers."


	14. The Conundrum of Unification

_I'm fond of thinking of Erik as a creepy German guy who lurks in corners and is a serial killer, who puts bullets in his friends in his spare time. Here's a message from Charles Xavier's twitter: In hindsight, teaching the revenge-driven, genocidal, magnetic dickbag how to properly hone his powers was probably not a good idea.  
_

_Thank you to sirensbane, Phoenixhp5t3, NotMarge, and mpathy for your reviews! I always loved referencing Frankenstein in relation to Erik, because it's a gorgeous allusion. I had to bring Alex back, because he's so much fun. I really think we need more chicks, though, because as of right now, it's kind of a sausage fest. The line to punch Erik starts here. You have to get behind me, though._

* * *

_So many battles waged over the years, and yet, none like this. Are we destined to destroy each other? Is the future truly set? Or can we change who we are, and unite?  
_– _Charles Xavier_

"Where's Erik?"

Charles and Hank looked up from their tea, which had become a habit every afternoon. "What?"

"I haven't seen him all day," Peter said, frowning. "And I know that isn't a good thing. Like, at all, that isn't a good thing. Where do-"

"Sh. Go check the house and the grounds. Just to see." When Peter zoomed off, Charles looked to Hank, and they both swallowed. Not good.

* * *

"Erik?" Charles asked quietly, appearing beside the man in the vacant seat on the plane. He was flying to Switzerland, that much Charles had gathered.

The older man jolted and turned to look at Charles. "Wh… Cerebro," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Please tell me your resolve hasn't already crumbled."

Erik shook his head, Hank narrowing his eyes as he saw the man from standing next to Charles. "I had to make a withdrawal from a bank."

The telepath raised an eyebrow. "Why, exactly?"

"It costs money to raise a child."

"You do realize you live with someone who has more inheritance than he knows what to do with."

Erik scoffed, though Charles saw in his eyes the guilt. "I wouldn't take anything else from you."

Charles sighed. "Erik, it's different if it's going to Lorna. I hardly mind providing to children. Have you failed to notice how many strays I've taken in over the years?"

Erik smiled a little. "Regardless, I'll return soon."

"You ever think about transferring your funds to a bank over here?"

Erik's eyes darkened. "You forget I'm a federal fugitive. I can't have my name anywhere in the United States."

"And you don't know what an alias is? I thought _I_ was inept at hiding."

"Shut up, Charles."

He sighed. "Fine, I'll see you soon."

"Auf Wiedersehen."

Charles took the helmet off his head and rubbed his forehead. "He's exhausting."

"I couldn't agree more."

Charles looked up. "You ever think about… getting in touch with your parents again? Just to see how they're doing?"

Hank looked away. "I'm not sure if that is the best plan."

"How about we just see how they've gotten along without you, hm?"

Hank met his eyes and gave him a nervous smile, shrugging. "I suppose so."

Charles placed the helmet on his head once more, taking some time to relax before he went out to search for Hank's parents. "What are their names? It'll make it easier."

"Edna and Norton McCoy. My father is a nuclear scientist, and my mother is an English teacher, if that helps."

"Certainly." Charles recalled Hank had grown up in Illinois, and figured that was his best bet, at least to start with. He found them easily, sitting at home now they were both home from work. They'd sat down to dinner, and…

"Oh," Hank breathed, seeing his parents glance forlornly at the empty third space at the table, where he remembered eating his meals growing up.

Charles dove into the couple's memories, spotting photos still hanging around the house of Hank. Charles chuckled at the sight. "You were an adorable child, my friend."

"And awkward," Hank added, gesturing to the photo of himself in braces, glasses taped in the middle and acne littering his face. The plaid shirt, bow tie, and suspenders did little to ease the screaming impression of "nerd" ringing in both their heads.

Taking off the helmet once more, he smiled up at Hank. "I think perhaps a letter, at least, to your parents would be in order."

"Perhaps," Hank said quietly, clearly deep in thought as he turned around and walked out of Cerebro without paying attention to where he was going. Charles quickly latched onto Hank's mind, nudging his cerebellum to direct him slightly to the left to sidestep the wall he was about to slam into, and sighing in relief when Hank avoided it, still thinking hard as Charles let go.

* * *

"Erik can go die, for all I care."

Hank sighed and sipped his water. "Alex, you're wearing me out."

"Don't tell me you aren't thinking the same."

"I am thinking the same. However, it is no use to complain about him when he is here to stay, and Charles seems to be tolerating him."

"Which brings me to my next point," Alex growled. "Charles should kick his ass and throw him out."

"And leave Lorna abandoned?" Hank raised an eyebrow.

"Give me a break. Like it would've been that terrible to have all of us raise her and have her grow up around rational people, not psychopaths like Erik."

"Alex, you don't understand," Hank grumbled.

"What don't I understand?" He snapped, taking his hands off the back of the chair and cursing as he began to pace.

"Sit down and I'll tell you."

"Tell me now."

"Fine." Hank took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Charles… did not grow up with loving parents. His mother was- is," he amended, "an alcoholic. His father died from… leukemia, I believe, as a result of radiation poisoning at his work. Charles's mother remarried to a greedy coworker of Charles's father, who had married into the family for money. With him, he soon brought his son, who made Charles's life rather unbearable. So," Hank said, looking up at Alex, "Charles's personal feelings are the driving force behind him insisting Erik stays here and raises Lorna."

Alex huffed and slumped into a chair. "I just… I feel bad for Charles, but… this is _Erik_ we're talking about here. The guy who fucking _broke_ Charles, tried to choke Moira, ran off to live in an evil lair and wear a stupid helmet and cape, killed Kennedy, stayed in solitary confinement for a decade, then when you guys broke him out, he tried to kill Raven, put you on display for the whole damn world to see," Hank winced, but Alex continued, "tried to kill Logan, apparently ditched his first kid already a bunch of years ago, has killed a ton of innocent people, and, oh yeah, tried to break Charles _again_!" Alex slammed his hands on the table. "Erik is a shitty person and there's _no_ reason for Charles not to treat him like a shitty person, and kick his ass out of here."

Hank had no response to that, because, quite honestly, he felt the same as Alex. He merely had the good grace not to voice it as often.

* * *

Charles gathered everyone outside, hoping that a round of everyone showing off their powers would be a distraction from the obvious malice towards Erik, and the fact that he was currently absent. Charles held Lorna against his chest, sighing a little as she squirmed. "Sh, it's alright. Your father will be home soon."

And then he started, because he realized he'd used an implied "Erik" and the word "home" in the same sentence, describing the manor. Things certainly were changing.

_But for the better, I wonder?_

_Onslaught, not now._

_Later, then._

Charles grimaced. _Fine, later. Not while everyone is around, though._

Onslaught seemed to ponder it, and Charles caught uncertainty from him. _You know… you're lucky. I feel weaker when Erik isn't around or torturing you in your mind._

_Good_, Charles snapped, pressing a soothing kiss to Lorna's forehead and speaking up. "Now, everyone, I feel a more mutant-like introduction is in order for all of us, yes?" The assembled group nodded, and Charles smiled. "Good. What this means is us simply showing off our powers somehow, so we can be more comfortable around one another. Now, line up, all of you." They obediently followed his instructions, and he nodded. "Logan, why don't you start?"

Logan rolled his eyes and unsheathed his claws in both hands, the others marveling at it-except for Peter, who told him again that it was gross. Cecilia went next, Logan's claws bouncing off her skin just as they came into contact, and no sign of pain evident on her face.

"So are you invincible?"

"No, I have a psionic shield. Makes me more durable."

"Cool," Morty said, grinning. He went after her, stretching out his tongue to grab a stick from the ground and pull it back.

The others laughed, enjoying the trick, and Morty seemed pleased that though everyone was laughing, it wasn't out of cruelty. Spyke, with much encouragement from the others, tested out his powers on Logan, causing the man to collapse for a moment in a small seizure before sitting up and cracking his neck.

"You could some real damage with that, kid. Not bad."

Ink showed off his power on Logan, causing the man to throw up, to which Scott shrieked an "ew!" and the others stepped back, simultaneously amused and disgusted.

"Am I the punching bag?"

"Not at all," Charles replied innocently, chuckling when Logan rolled his eyes.

Alex shot a small disc from his fist, letting it hit the side of the house since they'd Alex-proofed it on the outside long ago. "Scott basically does the same shit, just from his eyes," Alex informed everyone, defending his brother from having to show anything off, knowing the boy's confidence wasn't up to it yet.

"Pain in the ass, you're up."

Peter flashed a grin, then sped inside, reappearing a few seconds later with a bowl of ice cream. "You guys bore the hell out of me going so slow all the time. Seriously, it's like, I wanna blow my brains out, it's that boring."

Hank bit his lip, stepping forward and summoning Beast from within him. His skin began to turn blue as hair grew all over him, eyes melting into yellow and hands growing claws. Hank kicked off his shoes and pulled off his socks before his feet grew too big, and his teeth sharpened into fangs.

"Holy shit, that's awesome!"

The comment from Spyke, who was always silent and listening, was unexpected, but Hank smiled a little as he glowed with pride. "It is, in a way, yes."

Alex nudged his friend. "Don't be so shy about it, man. He once picked up a guy by the leg and threw him about thirty feet."

Ink whistled, and Hank looked down at the ground. "Er, Alex, I think-"

"He also ripped a guy's arm off once. He's way more badass than he looks."

"Alex, that's enough," Charles said firmly, as Hank had already begun to slip back into his human form, face red. His eyes remained yellow and his hair had hints of blue, telling Charles the younger man was enormously upset. _Oh, Alex. You try, you mean well, but you desperately need a filter between your brain and mouth._

_Hank, he means well._

_I know._

Charles, for Hank's benefit and to give him an excuse to leave while saving face, told his friend the generator for Cerebro might need checking, so Hank hurried off. Thankfully, the other mutants didn't seem very fazed, though Alex looked a little ashamed.

"What does she do?" Morty inquired, pointing to Lorna, who had fallen asleep in Charles's protective grasp. He admittedly had tightened his grip on her when the others had shown off her powers, though he hadn't been afraid for himself. Only instinctively afraid for the small girl in his arms.

"Ah… nothing yet, I believe. Mutations don't often appear at birth, usually in childhood or around puberty, as Hank and I have discovered. We've hypothesized that traumatic events may bring out mutations early." Charles, Erik, and Alex had been prime examples, since Charles had lost his father, Erik had suffered through genocide, and Alex had lost his older brother. Hank, due to the extra exposure he'd had to nuclear radiation while in the womb, was born with his feet the way they were. Sean's screams had come about during puberty. Raven had likely been born blue, though that was an anomaly. But… she was unique, as he'd said many times. He smiled ruefully as he wheeled inside, still holding Lorna.

* * *

He put her in the nursery, letting himself begin to shake as his eyes burned, tears threatening to spill over. She'd been so happy to see him when he was in Paris. But… then she'd banished him from her head, no matter how hard he tried to convince her to return.

In Washington, he'd grasped her mind again to save their future, in what he thought was a last act of effectively ruining their relationship. The cost to save the world was worth it. Yet Charles still didn't think the personal cost had been worth the pain.

He buried his face in his hands, sniffing and trying to keep himself together. It was his job, as his future self had told him.

_"You're afraid. I remember."_

_"There's just so much_ pain_."_

_"It's not their pain you're afraid of. It's yours."_

His job, to bear the pain of others without breaking. He had to bear his own agony and everyone else's while still remaining wise and in control. Had to protect and lead the mutants here, and so many others of their kind around the world.

So even though he shuddered at the thought of trying to do that and failing, he still kept it in his mind that he had to, regardless of his doubts. He had to try his best to lead and bear all the pain in the world. And he had to bend, but not break.

He could bend. He bended so easily, sensitive as he was. A product of his telepathy, though Charles suspected he was born sensitive anyway. So in tune with others' emotions, trying as a little boy to understand people and make them feel better. He'd given himself out to others since he was small, hating to see someone in pain. Because no creature was born evil. They were molded by someone who was already corrupt, and who wanted another person to feel as miserable as they did.

Shaw was corrupted by another person. Shaw corrupted Erik. Erik had corrupted Raven, though his sister still held onto some shreds of her humanity and sweetness, despite everything. Someone corrupted Hitler. Someone corrupted all the murderers, Bundy and Son of Sam and Jack the Ripper. Someone corrupted Agent William Stryker, who corrupted his son, the Sergeant.

None of those people were born evil, contrary to what many people passionately yet blindly believed. They were corrupted by people they'd known personally, and by society itself. Society, at a quick glance, was disgusting, a festering sore harming everyone it touched.

Yet Charles had to believe people weren't all bad. He had to believe, underneath all the hatred in a person's heart, somewhere in the hidden depths, there was at least some semblance of good. That there was hope for anyone in the world, no matter what they'd done. Even if they'd hurt him personally, he had to believe still had potential to do wonderful things for the world.

If he didn't believe the best in people, he knew he'd go mad. As he already nearly had up until Logan arrived to hand him the tools to drag himself out of the cess pool he'd wallowed in for so many long years. Charles very much liked his sanity, and didn't relish the thought of losing it again. Partly, it was out of spite toward his mother, who had claimed him insane for a time and sent him away. Mostly, however, it was out of desperation to do something with his life. Not to simply sit and let his life slip away meaninglessly. He wanted to make at least some small part of the world a little better, and desired to use his life to do so. In order to do that, he needed his sanity.

So he believed in people. He was more careful, now, but also not so wary he snapped at others and warned them away. He gave them a chance, and a second, and a third.

Charles let tears fall now, only because they were of hope. Hope for the future, no matter how terrifying it was. Taking one step at a time, he could do it. He would be alright, and he could do what he set out to do in life. Just because someone stumbles, loses their way, it doesn't mean they're lost forever.


	15. Father Son Bonding Time

_For NotMarge, another tweet by Charles: "Erik left me and his fashion sense on Cuba."  
_

_Thank you to PuraStones, Phoenixhp5t3, mpathy, and NotMarge for leaving feedback! Phoenix, you're actually in luck that Lorna's a canon character, so you can google her. :) Charles definitely needs people to back him up when people that could hurt him hang around. Alex likes to throw everything out there. It's a skill. _

* * *

_You've got tears making tracks  
I've got tears that are scared of the facts  
_– _Athlete_

"_Charles, Raven, lambs, this is Kurt's son, Cain," Sharon introduced, her voice lilting as she giggled when Kurt kissed her cheek._

_Charles grimaced, Raven squeezing his hand before she let go to reluctantly hold out her hand for Cain to shake._

_Cain stared at her like she'd grown a second head. "Aren't the women supposed to be kissing my feet and curtseying? You're not a man, sweetheart, you need to act like a lady."_

_Raven kicked Cain's shin in reply, causing him to collapse, howling in pain while Sharon yelled at the girl. Raven rolled her eyes and shrugged, walking off while Sharon screamed at her to get back here this instant. Charles shrank against the wall and waited for it to be over._

He bolted upright, arms thrown back against the mattress to steady himself, breathing harsh as he stared at Cain's face. Every time he blinked, the boy's face was there.

_God, Charles, get a backbone, will you?_

"Onslaught, leave me alone!" He snapped, panting as his eyes darted around. His heart was still pounding, breaths gasping and his skin covered in a sheen of sweat. His arms trembled with the effort of holding his body up, mind rapidly spiraling out of his control.

Then he screamed.

* * *

Hank and Erik arrived at the door at the same time, Erik unlocking it and letting Hank slip inside first. Charles was writhing on the bed, gripping his head as he screamed bloody murder and sobbed.

Bowing his head, Erik went into Charles's bathroom and rifled through his medicine cabinet, finding the strong painkillers Hank had reluctantly prescribed Charles a short while ago. A dosage upped from the one Charles had been taking prior to Erik's arrival. Filling a glass with water, waiting a few moments until the screaming died down to whimpering, Erik went back into the bedroom and stood on Charles's other side. Hank stroked Charles's hair, the other hand holding the telepath down by his shoulder.

"It's alright, I promise. Whatever it is, it's gone now."

Charles moaned, wiping weakly at his face and letting his eyes drift away from staring desperately up at Hank to the window, moonlight drifting in and illuminating the room. "I just want it all to go away."

"I know, but… there's nothing I can do. Only you can make it go away."

Hank helped Charles sit up and lean against the headboard, though Charles was still trembling somewhat and his face was scrunched in pain. Erik handed the man a few pills and the water without comment, watching him carefully. Alex and Logan appeared at the doorway, and Erik could see the other four boys behind them, but he shook his head and all disappeared.

"I don't want to sleep," Charles muttered, pulling his arm away from Hank.

"You need at least eight hours."

"If I'm tired, I'll take a nap."

"Fine," Hank said wearily, looking up at Erik and twitching his eyes toward Charles before he got up and left the room. _You're up to bat._

Erik sat on the edge of Charles's bed, looking at the floor and offering no words. The telepath would talk when he was ready.

"Erik?"

"Hm?"

"Can you… help me over there?" Charles pointed to the windowseat, and Erik nodded. Rolling his shoulders, he stood and braced himself, bending down to put his arms under Charles and lift him. Admittedly, even after lifting with his legs, he staggered a little, but Erik managed the few steps over to the window, and also managed not to merely drop Charles on the windowseat.

"You're… you need to stop…" Erik panted a bit. "Eating so much."

Charles smiled. "Is that a fat joke?"

"Without the 'joke' part," Erik replied, sitting across from him.

Charles chuckled, though his eyes didn't match the sound. He tore his gaze away from Erik, turning it on the view outside.

"Since you're a different person than I, would you like to talk about it?"

"I… possibly." Shaking his head, Charles rubbed his forearm. "I'm not entirely sure I want to trust you with anything else, honestly."

Erik nodded. "I wouldn't blame you."

He sighed. "Then again… you know me better than anyone else, unfortunately." Charles rubbed his forehead. "Alright… just… a small thing." When Erik didn't say anything, he continued, voice halting as he forced the words out. "My stepbrother, Cain, was a miserable person. He took it out on me the entire time he lived in this house."

It gave Erik pause. Clearly, Charles had developed some post-traumatic stress as a result of his less than sunny childhood. Which made Erik wonder how well he'd deal with being in the same places he'd suffered as a child, only every single day. Charles certainly was skilled in the art of being a martyr.

"He-" Charles broke off, pressing a fist to his mouth and shutting his eyes. "I can't say anymore." He sighed. "I'm going back to bed."

"Alright."

* * *

"So you're my old man, huh? Aren't you, huh? Huh?"

Erik held up a hand, silencing the boy-though likely only because Peter desired an answer. "Yes."

"You're kind of an asshole, you know that, right? Like, huge asshole. Such a jerk. Seriously, dude, what the hell?"

Erik sighed. "It's a talent."

Peter scoffed. "C'mon, even Logan isn't naturally an asshole. He's actually a nice guy, unlike _some_ people." Peter gave Erik a pointed look. "You're gonna spend time with me. We're gonna bond, and you're gonna be a dad, alright?"

"What exactly do you expect me to do?"

"I don't know, man. Take me fishing or something, seriously. I'm just the kid, you're the dad. Besides, you owe me. Big time, you owe me."

* * *

"Okay, I'm bored out of my mind," Peter announced after he'd actually sat rather patiently for ten minutes. Which, Erik guessed, was likely about thirty minutes Peter-time.

"Good, so am I," Erik agreed, reeling the line back and tossing his fishing pole to the side in the small boat.

"This is borinngggg. Why would _anyone_ wanna do this crap? Seriously, we're not having fun. We're not bonding or anything. There's no point to this!" Peter tossed his own pole on top of Erik's, crossing his arms.

Erik rubbed his temple, sighing. "We're not doing anything else you like to do, unless it involves stealing."

"Let's go steal stuff then."

"Not today, I'm tired."

"Oh my _God_, old man, you suck."

Scrubbing his face with one hand, Erik sighed again. This was pointless. Yes, he loved Peter, as he loved both his offspring. But this was different than loving Lorna. He'd had to leave Peter and his mother behind, and now, as far as he was concerned, it was too little too late to reconcile and be a proper father to this boy.

Who, quite frankly, was only his son by DNA. They couldn't be related otherwise, because they were absolutely nothing alike. Peter was always going too fast through life, not taking his time with anything. His clothes were ridiculous, his music taste was terrible, he was disrespectful, and he was an annoying kleptomaniac. Stealing from other people was fine. It was not fine when Peter insisted on snatching Erik's things.

He could hardly stand his son, which was not what he'd pictured when Peter was still a newborn. Not at all, even close, to what he'd pictured.

Though, Erik had to confess he'd been picturing what was essentially a mini-him, only with more qualities from Peter's mother to make him a sweeter boy.

There was no sweetness in Peter Maximoff. Only qualities than incited rage in Erik.

Then he lifted his head, and it was as though a chorus of angels sang in his head. _There, I knew I'd think of something._

* * *

"Duuude, this is awesomeeee!"

Erik dragged out another target, stepping a good several feet back to be sure they were lined up nicely. Nodding his head in approval, he walked to Peter and held out a spare gun. "This is how we bond, if we do so at all. Fishing is overrated." Erik demonstrated how to take off the safety, since though Peter had swiped guns from people before, he had no idea how to use them. After ensuring Peter wasn't about to shoot himself and force Erik to perform a patch up on his kid this Saturday afternoon, he gestured for Peter to start shooting the targets.

"And do not run forward to redirect the bullets. That's cheating."

"Yeah, yeah, okay, I won't." Peter lifted the gun, his hands shaking a little, and Erik reached out to steady his arm.

"Relax. It won't bite."

"What if it explodes in my face, though?"

"What?" Erik furrowed his eyebrows, staring at Peter as though he'd lost his mind.

"Like Looney Tunes. I mean, it's a cartoon, yeah, but people gotta get the idea of an exploding gun from somewhere, right? A lot of that stuff is based in reality, man."

Erik sighed. "No, it's not going to explode. Besides, even if it did, I'd get the gun away from you before it did any real damage."

"Not like you'd technically _need_ to, but…" Peter trailed off, face twisting before he finally settled on a small smile. It was fond, not a smirk as he usually had. "Thanks, old man."

"You're welcome. Now fire it."

Peter mock saluted him, then pulled the trigger. The bullet flew past the target and hit the wall, ricocheting dangerously backward toward them, though Erik didn't have to twitch an eye in order to stop it in its tracks. The bullet dropped to the floor with a small plink, and Peter grinned. "How good's your aim?" Then he smirked. "And no cheating with your powers either."

Erik snatched the gun from the boy's hands without touching it, letting it levitate into his grasp. "Unfortunately for you, it's excellent without my mutation." Lifting the gun, he fired three shots, all hitting a perfect center in the target and embedding themselves in the mannequins. Which Erik recognized as the same ones they'd used for Alex to practice on, years ago, only now they were painted grey with red and white targets on their chests.

Whistling, clearly impressed, Peter laughed. "Damn, you really did go around hunting Nazis, didn't you?"

"Alex told you?"

"Hank, actually. You know, he's actually not bad, you know? He's a huge geek and all, but he makes a good pizza. And doesn't burn it, man. It's so good." Peter stopped, squinting at Erik. "You know… you're actually not _that_ bad. I mean, from what I hear you've done to the Professor, you're still kind of a huge swinging dick, but I mean…" Peter shrugged. "I dunno. You're weird, let's put it that way. You're nice, but still an asshole, if that makes sense."

"Believe me," Erik chuckled a little, "That makes more sense than most things."


	16. Once a Darker Path, But No Longer

_Thank you to NotMarge, Phoenixhp5t3, DNABANANA, and mpathy for leaving reviews! Glad you guys all liked Erik and Peter bonding. I figured they wouldn't bond the way normal people do, rather Erik teaches his son how to shoot people. Responsible dad, yes? Charles can only help himself at this point. Lorna is one of my favorite X-Men, so I had to include her. Also, plenty of Lorna Doone cookie jokes are forthcoming, I can assure you. Another tweet from Charles: "Sure, my groovy mutation routine isn't the best, but at least I didn't try to seduce a girl by saying 'You like fish, I like fish too.'"  
_

_This has been a ride, guys, but I must allow this story to close so a new one may begin for Charles. I will be publishing the sequel tomorrow, under the title of Hope, named for the track Charles's theme in Days of Future Past. I hope to see you there, cheering and jeering at the mutants. Thank you for reading._

* * *

_Black and blue, I chose my way  
I'm a candid castaway  
_– _Anna Nalick_

Hank smiled down at Scott, Charles sitting off to the side as Alex stood right next to his brother. "Here you are. I finally figured out how exactly to make these for you."

"What is it?" Scott asked, voice eager as his head tilted up slightly toward the sound of Hank's voice.

The scientist carefully unfolded the pair of glasses, guiding Scott's hand to touch them. Black frames, similar to sunglasses, with red lenses made of ruby quartz material. _Some of my finest work, if I do say so myself._

"Now, squeeze your eyes shut tightly until I tell you to open them."

Scott nodded and his forehead wrinkled as he did as told, fists clenching at his sides and his chest tightening when he held his breath. His whole body tensed, he waited in fear for Hank to put on the promised glasses, terrified they wouldn't work and he'd end up hurting someone.

Hank carefully pulled off the blindfold, sliding the glasses onto his ears and pushing them a good ways up his nose. As a precaution, avoiding Alex's gaze as he did so, he stepped off to the side, out of the potential line of fire. "Alright, now slowly inch your eyes open. We don't want to overwhelm the lenses at first, not until they get used to the power output."

Scott, still with all his body tensed, opened his eyes a crack, almost forgetting how after such a long time of keeping them closed. The energy blast exploded from his eyes, knocking him back into Alex as he gasped. But soon, the overwhelming fountain of red drained away, leaving him to blink in astonishment.

"I can see!" He cried out, oblivious to Alex holding him up as he dangled uselessly, too shocked to pay attention to anything besides the fact that he could see. He could really see things again. Everything around him, not just whatever his mind tricked him into thinking he was seeing.

Hank grinned, walking to Scott and taking a penlight from his shirt pocket. He clicked it on and crouched before the boy, shining it through the glasses. "Is that bright?"

Scott put a hand in front of his face. "Yes."

"Excellent. Your eyes will be a little weak at first from lack of use, but they should strengthen again in time." Hank put the light back in his pocket. "Hopefully, they'll be in better condition than mine."

Alex and Charles chuckled, but Scott blinked. "Wait… what…?" He looked up at Hank, craning his neck as his mouth dropped open. "You wear glasses… and you're…" He blinked. "Holy _crap_, you're _tall_!"

Hank laughed. "Extremely."

Scott turned around, peering up at his brother, who waved. "Dude, you look a lot weirder than I remember."

"Good or bad?"

Scott shrugged. "Depends on your point of view."

"_Hey_," Alex said, grabbing Scott and rubbing his knuckles into the brunette's hair. "You're such a brat, squirt."

"Don't call me squirt, dangit!"

Alex merely laughed, taking Scott by the shoulders and swiveling him to face Charles. "This is the great and wise and powerful Professor."

Scott's mouth hung open again. "Uh… you…"

Charles couldn't completely mask the wince on his face, looking away as he tried to brace himself against the expected "I didn't realize you were in a wheelchair."

"You have _hair_ and you're not _old_."

He really should realize by now that whenever someone new comes into their little ragtag group, they wouldn't blink twice at his handicap. Still, try as he might, he continued to feel embarrassed of himself. Ironic, considering he'd been rather vocal about acceptance lately.

Charles chuckled. "I suppose 'Professor' certainly gives the impression you had. I can assure you, I'm only in my thirties."

Scott grinned. "I think how you look matches your voice, though. Fits you better than what I pictured."

"Why, thank you, I-" Charles broke off when Scott leapt forward and wrapped his arms around the man. "Thank you for bringing me here, Professor. It's really nice, and I can go outside and talk to people when I'm here."

He'd been doing a lot of admitting these past months, and today was no exception as his throat closed up a little. Not quite trusting his voice not to come out croaking, he settled on brushing Scott's mind instead. _You're welcome, Scott. You always have a home here._

* * *

"You're all wondering why I gathered you in the same place and forbidden fighting."

A collective nod.

Charles sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I need help."

"With what?"

"First of all, what have I told you about smoking in the house?"

Logan rolled his eyes and stubbed out the cigar in an ashtray.

"Second of all, Alex, when you're yelling your thoughts, I can hear every plot to kill Erik."

The blond crossed his arms and glowered at the floor.

"Now," he started, shifting in his chair a little before steepling his hands, "September is fast approaching, yes? The new school year, a time for a fresh start."

They all nodded again.

"I need teachers. As I will admit, I'm a bit finicky about hiring and bringing new adults into our little sanctuary. Which is why, for the time being, I'm going to rely on all of you to teach the boys the various subjects."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Absolutely. I have faith in every one of you to execute this task to the best of your ability."

"So…" Hank shifted. "Are we supposed to rock-paper-scissors for it?"

Charles laughed. "I thought we'd play various games like finding Waldo in the crowd or finding out who can hold their liquor best." He reached over to a neat stack on his desk and chuckled. "No, no, I have puzzled out who will teach what, not to worry. Erik, you're in charge of foreign languages."

"Woah, woah!" Alex snapped, stepping forward. "Why is _he_ teaching anything?"

"Because I trust him not to act like a cultist and indoctrinate the students. Plus, he's more multilingual than even Hank, plus the fact that I need Hank to teach science. Alex, you'll be teaching math."

"Ugh."

"It'll be good for you. Cecilia, when you're here, you can feel free to teach anything you like."

"Sounds good to me."

"Logan, you'll be teaching art."

"Hey," Logan stepped forward, holding his hands up in a peace offering, "I know in my memories you saw me lie and say I taught art, but there ain't a fucking thing you can bribe me with to get me to teach these little shits anything."

"Not even if I told you if you didn't, I'd ship you off to live in Siberia, thinking you're an actual wolverine? No toilet paper, no cooked meat, just the knowledge that everything that is not you is trying to kill you?"

Logan sighed and scrubbed his face with one hand. "You used to be a lot less of an asshole."

"I was also bald in your memories, dearest Logan. I was practically obligated to act the part of a saint. Oh, also, Erik, you're teaching English."

"And what are you teaching?"

Charles smiled. "Philosophy, music, and basic control and application of mutations."

"Of course, saving the best for yourself," Hank snorted, feigning irritation. The twinkle in his eyes betrayed him, along with the thoughts drifting from his consciousness to Charles's.

_Welcome back, Charles._

_It's good to be back, Hank._

When Charles didn't dismiss them, they knew something had to be off. "Charles?"

The telepath's face darkened as he put two fingers to his temple, closing his eyes as he called the five boys into his study.

"Professor? What's going on, man? You sick or something? You look kinda funny."

"Sh," he told Peter, effectively silencing him. "I feel you all should know my next course of action, so that you may make your decisions from there."

Erik narrowed his eyes, examining Charles closely. Something was enormously wrong. Charles had been a little… well, not a little. No, he'd be definitely under the weather, especially lately. When most of the mansion had begun to gather together, he'd been feeling better. Brave, ready to face the world and teach again. Ready to guide students in controlling their powers, ready to help them accept themselves. He'd been almost eager to lead once more, to have hope.

Clearly, they hadn't seen what had been truly metamorphosing within their friend these past weeks.

Charles took a breath to steady himself, and as Hank saw, to brace himself against the building waves of emotion that threatened to pull him under and force him into being a crying mess. Then he spoke, and it took all of Hank's strength not to fall to his knees.

Charles was sliding backwards, starting with the decision no one could talk him out of.

"I have decided to leave Westchester indefinitely, due to my own lack of knowledge on how to solve my demons surrounding this place. I owe you all my sincerest apologies, and I'm sorry for doing this to you. I merely do not believe in my ability to instruct and lead when I am continually beaten down by my own weakness. When I left Westchester the first time, years ago, I could almost immediately hold my head up again. I know that will happen once I leave again."

Charles cleared his throat. "I am planning to continue teaching once I have left this place, and if any of you feel up to following me, then we will take the school with us. However, if you all wish to remain here, then I encourage you to be taught by and to learn from one another. You do not have to make your decision now, but I am leaving in a week. Thank you for understanding."

* * *

Erik and Hank made their decisions first. "As much as we can hardly bear one another's company, we will remain at your side."

Charles had bitten back grateful tears and smiled in a watery way. "Thank you, my friends. That means more to me than you know."

And because Erik was going, that meant Lorna would come along as well. The telepath held her now, lightly patting her small leg as he held her against his chest, leaning forward to move the white queen residing on the board. Erik blocked the queen's path with his black knight, both of them always careful and thinking many, many moves ahead. Which was why their games lasted so long if they were putting effort into it. If they played for mindlessness, they could play two games a day, though only two because those games lasted hours still.

Erik glanced up at his daughter in his oldest friend's grasp, mouth twitching upward. "She has us all wrapped around her finger."

Charles chuckled as he shifted her in his arm. "She does, no question. But how could anyone resist such a darling little face?"

"Obviously not me," Erik replied, taking a sip of tonight's drink.

The telepath chuckled. "Only because she's your child. If it was anyone else's, you wouldn't care."

He tipped his tumbler toward Charles in agreement. "Truer words have never been spoken, old friend."

Taking care not to laugh too loudly, lest he wake the dozing infant, Charles smiled fondly at Lorna. "I do have to wonder what sort of mutation she'll end up with."

"With my luck, something endlessly annoying as Peter has."

"You have terrible luck, Erik."

Neither man missed the fact that while Erik continuously referred to Charles as a friend, the latter made no acknowledgement. They'd given up that debate quickly, in Erik's effort to offer olive branches and rebuild the wide gap in the bridge that made up their friendship.

_More like rebuild the entire bridge itself._

_Onslaught, what have you done with Francis?_

_Still here,_ a whispering voice came to Charles, sounding sleepy. _Just been resting comfortably since your lovely change in attitude. Though I must add I'm a bit worried about you leaving Westchester, but I'm willing to see if this works._

_Oh, give me a break. Charles, you're being a pussy- no, wait, that's an insult to women. You're much worse than that._

Francis and astral Charles smacked their palms to their foreheads, scrubbing them down their faces simultaneously and sighing. Physical Charles continued holding Lorna and concentrating on his chess match with Erik, deciding to ignore Onslaught if he was going to be such a tool.

One had to wonder why he hadn't done that before.

* * *

In the end, all but Ink and Cecilia decided to come with Charles. Cecilia wanted to stay and work at the hospital, and Ink wanted to stick near her and earn a job so he could heal people. Charles gave him a few quick methods of concentration and some techniques using his healing power, and then told him to write Charles if he had an issue he wanted to address. As a precaution, Charles discreetly opened a link between his mind and Ink's, strengthening it over the next few days so he could much more quickly contact the boy if there was a problem.

He also got a brief conversation with Erik out of the way, alleviating his newfound worry after he'd chosen their new location in Haifa, Israel.

"_Erik?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_I believe you might want to reconsider coming along."_

"_Why?"_

"_Well… I'm going to Israel, so…"_

"_And?"_

"_I know you're rather keen on avoiding things related to Judaism."_

"_I've been to Israel before."_

"_Oh."_

"_Stop worrying incessantly over the tiniest of things, Charles."_

"_Alright, alright."_

What else was on his checklist?

_I believe,_ Francis spoke up, _you were going to ask Hank and Erik to help you seal the basement._

Right. Oh, he wasn't looking forward to that conversation.

* * *

Hank seemed rightfully upset about leaving behind his currently proudest creation, and he sighed wistfully as Erik sealed the last of the elevator shafts, effectively cutting everyone off from Cerebro, the Danger Room, and the medbay until Erik returned to reconstruct the elevators.

"I'm sorry, Hank."

"It's… fine."

"No, it isn't."

"You're right, it isn't fine. However, social protocol dictates I say it is fine."

Erik turned to both of them. "Enough. What's done is done. It's not as though we destroyed the machine, Hank. We sealed it away so we would be the only ones to ever access it again."

Hank stormed off without another word, silently fuming as he tried to suppress it. _He was doing better. Now all of that work is moot. I really hate Charles sometimes._

_No… no I don't. I wish he would go back to being who he was when I met him. I'm angry at him for not being the same person forever and never changing at all. Which is entirely irrational, but I can hardly help it. I've tried._

* * *

They took Charles's plane, because Cecilia and Ink insisted they didn't need it. Charles had been reluctant to leave them without a method of quick getaway, but after Cecilia threatened to box his ears if he didn't take his own jet, he conceded. Now he sat in his traveling chair, Lorna in his arms and Scott sitting cross-legged next to him. The feelings of uselessness were making his head pound, a definite indicator of a headache developing, and Charles sighed as he closed his eyes. Bending down to ruffle Scott's hair, he did his best to focus on the boy, the little girl in his arms, his closest friends just a few feet away, and the fact he was going to have a completely fresh start somewhere.

He'd toyed with the idea of going to Oxford for a while, the familiarity of it drawing him like a moth to flame. But he'd struck it down when he was reminded that his mother was living in the countryside not far from Oxford, and Charles very promptly decided he'd rather jump off a skyscraper than live near his mother. After that, he'd contemplated somewhere in France, but still felt too uncomfortably close to his mother's potential clawed grasp. Germany had been completely marked out as a potential location, because he knew that might have been the breaking point for Erik. Japan wasn't exactly a good place to blend in, not when all but two of their original, non-split group was chalk white. Plus, it was a bit too close to Russia, which wasn't the best location right now. Though Africa could've been interesting, there had been quite a lot of conflict regarding independence from European countries, and Charles didn't relish the idea of one of his students being caught in that mess. Anywhere in South America Charles had nixed since Erik also had too many bad associations with the continent, and obviously Antarctica was a foolish notion. Southern Asia had too many jungles, which Charles knew would never be a peaceful sanctuary for four of his students.

Though few of them were tan enough to fit the bill, the Middle East seemed their next best bet. Charles did his best to choose a country that held to Western ideals and wouldn't necessarily outright ban a few mutants, were they found out. Once Charles had suggested the idea of Israel, Erik had rather excitedly talked over details, further convincing the telepath he'd made the right decision. He discovered Erik had, in fact, worked for the Israeli secret service at one point, which Charles sealed in an envelope and allowed Francis to file away for safe keeping, in case they needed the information later.

So Israel they would be living in for the foreseeable future. Charles jolted, startling Lorna and Scott, when he realized the enormity of the changes in his life from only the past year. Had it really _only_ been a year since Logan had dragged them all through veritable hell into a brighter future? Only a year he'd been struggling up the steep mountain of recovery from the pit he'd dug himself into for a decade? God, it had been a year. They'd all come such a long way, it was flooring.

"Charles?"

The telepath looked up when Erik pulled him from his musings, smiling.

"Are you alright?"

They were all looking at him expectantly, worried looks on their faces, a result from seeing him crumbling as of late. But he didn't feel that way now. Far from it. Charles hadn't felt this bittersweet in perhaps his entire life. He was leaving behind good and bad memories here in Westchester, and yet he was walking toward a new and uncertain, but brighter future. It was thrilling to contemplate, and Charles's lips turned up in a warm smile.

"Yes… yes, I believe I am."


End file.
